That Awkward Moment When
by gurj14
Summary: That awkward moment when Santana realised she was sleeping with her boss's daughter… AU-Brittana
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey y'all. Still working on an update to 'The Score' but until then this plot bunny has been messing with me. I tried to be funny, so I hope it brings some laughs your way.

Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.

_**That Awkward Moment When**_

Santana wasn't known for smiling, in fact her face was in a constant almost-frown because… just because. Maybe it was because the grandmother who raised her nursed her like she was a piece of trash (even calling her garbage-face and threatening to beat her with chairs) or maybe it was because she hated most people in life and only found _herself_ awesome (occasionally the doorman at her apartment complex was pretty awesome too, when he held the doors open and stuff).

Whatever. There wasn't much to smile about.

Her not-smile was the reason Horton Pierce, yes the man's name was _Horton_, hired her on the spot for her current kick-ass job. He quote, thought it was nice to meet a woman that didn't try win his favour with charm or giggling jokes thus proving she took the job seriously, unquote.

She was the first and only woman he interviewed for the job so… that was utter bullshit. In reality, she happened to fill his female/minority quota, but the man was classy enough to tell her that he hired her based solely upon her credentials and non-smile.

Not that she was complaining of course. This job meant money, and money meant nice things to buy like her new vintage-chic apartment or diamond tennis bracelet. Also, her awesome clothes that were neatly arranged in her walk-in closet. They were some fine-ass clothes.

Okay, so maybe having that stuff makes her smile. In private.

(Okay, okay, so maybe when she eats at BreadstiX she smiles then, too. Those warm, doughy, culinary treats were to fucking die for. You couldn't _not smile_ when you ate them.)

And, can you really blame her for smiling at the blonde woman (fucking gorgeous, just for the record) that checks her out at the gym every other morning?

No. You can't. Because that blonde woman is, once again, just for the record, fucking gorgeous. Especially when the sunlight creeping through the high windows in the gym captures that blonde woman's angelic face or blends into her angelic hair. And Santana's inner monologue is all 'I needs to grab a hold of that bootylicious.'

Thankfully, Santana's teeth are perfect (just like the rest of her) so when she does choose to smile at fucking gorgeous blondes who check her out? It makes them blush a pretty pink and give her bedroom eyes to show they are definitely interested. Like that blonde was interested. Because she gave Santana bedroom eyes when Santana smiled at her.

Santana has a valuable life code that has never failed to get her whatever the hell she wants, like

Always have something to use as blackmail if necessary (her grandmother taught her that one)

Exercise regularly because having a smoking-hot-bod was the best way to pick up women with lesbian tendencies (evidence: the fucking gorgeous blonde that checked her out)

and, last but not least,

Shop online because going to the mall only irritates the shit out of her and ruins any and all anger management she paid for during her questionable youth

This blonde woman, the gorgeous one that checks her ass out at the gym on a regular basis, she was what Santana's dream woman would be if her dream woman were real (not counting teenage fantasies of Britney Spears). Like, Santana overheard her talking about her flexibility with a personal trainer and almost pulled a muscle from speeding up on the stationary bike too fast, that's how much of a dream this woman was. Especially because when the woman noticed it, she smirked and did unthinkable weird pretzel things to stretch out on a floor mat. It was heaven in the form of foreplay.

So, finally, one early morning at the gym a few months after playing the 'not-so-subtle-flirt' game with the gorgeous blonde and before Santana has to go to work and kick all kinds of lawyer ass, she musters up the courage to go up to the blonde and introduce herself.

She takes a sultry gulp of water from her water bottle after getting off the treadmill and says "hey." It works perfectly because blondie is giving her those 'let's do it on this treadmill' eyes (again).

Fucking score. She doesn't know why she was nervous about conversation because obviously the only conversation they need to be on the same page is the constant eye-fucking they use to compliment one another.

She makes sure her eyes return the favour and when not-so-mysterious sexy blonde grins suggestively with this perfect pink blush, Santana knows she doesn't even need a hook or a line to sink her (or whatever the saying is). She's got this. Blondie wants all up on her.

So, yeah, she's smiling. Her life code, as always, helps her get what she wants.

"Hey," the blonde says back, tucking a loose bang from her forehead behind her ear and practically purring as she flirts. "I'm Brittany."

"Hi, Brittany…"

Santana can't help but repeat the name herself just to test it out because _Brittany_ is so fucking hot it's sinful. She rolls the 'r' a bit to give some flavour to the whole 'we want each other naked yesterday' dance they're doing and tease the woman with the obvious talent of her Latin tongue.

They're totally doing the eye-fucking thing on a whole new level right now, so Santana quickly adds, "I'm Santana. Nice to meet you."

(It's only polite to give your name to the girl you're mentally-fucking, especially when she gave you hers first and she looks like a sexier Britney Spears at the time of her prime.)

"Oh, well…" the gorgeous blonde, _Brittany_, leans forward and gently presses her fingertips to Santana's forearm. "_Hi,_ Santana."

Santana feels like she's on fire. Her arm like, tingles everywhere. The inevitable sex they have will be smoking hot. It will win the Oscars. Global warming 2.0, right there.

Yes, please.

"So…" Santana glances down at the misbehaving fingers and then glances back up at _Brittany_ with her sultriest voice. "I have to head off to work now, but I was hoping to get your number. I'd love to take you out for dinner."

It's pretty obvious that neither of them really care about the dinner part and both are above making 'eating out' jokes, so nothing further is done except Brittany giggling her "okay" and yeah, giving her number to Santana.

She smiled for a few minutes after that. But like, it was excusable.

/

The next day, she walks to work with an extra bounce in her step. She had that hot blonde's number and through flirtatious texting last night they'd agreed that tonight worked out for meeting. For their not-dinner-focused dinner.

Santana likes how _Brittany_ is upfront about what she wants and isn't playing any silly attraction games. They're totally getting it on tonight and the day couldn't go by _any_ slower. Especially with fucking Horton Pierce rambling on in the partner's meeting about how shitty the coffeemaker is and how shitty the technical difficulties are with their in-house email which is getting out of control. Oh, yeah, and how they need to cut back on their paperclips and use more staples. Seriously.

New coffeemaker or not, Santana likes her Starbucks and she's more digital then paper these days compared to the old men who grumbled about how to keep their papers together. So, yeah, she let them hash it out and agreed with Horton so she could get back to her _real_ fucking work.

Half an hour later, she greets her secretary Becky Jackson, a crazy ass bitch, with a latte from her morning Starbucks run. It was definitely needed to wake her the hell up from the boring meeting about paperclips. She tells Becky to get her ass moving on the final court prep because she's got to be there after lunch. Becky, of course, tells her to 'fuck off' before she hands over a thick folder all smug because she got the court prep done last night.

Santana gives in to a fist bump (and maybe she smiles, just a little).

Underestimated because of her down-syndrome, Becky loved shocking the fuck out of everyone with her ability on the job and Santana was constantly surprised. It was why she kept Becky around. They make each other work harder with their intensity and need to prove their worth (being females in a male dominated work-space and all that mumbo-jumbo), both only hired to meet some kind of company standards instead of on their own merit.

She wanted some respect, too, dammit.

In her case, the money made it easily tolerable at first but the longer she worked there the novelty started to wear off. She put in extra work while the guy next to her (her other boss's son, Evans, to be exact) played video games half the time.

This particular case was pretty big so Santana spends more time mentally going through it than usual. R&B singer Mercedes Jones is suing her record label for withholding revenues, and Santana is a fan of the woman and the big payout she'd earn from winning, so she lets her other paperwork pile up and motivates herself to give this case her all. She's pulling off harder cases than the 'experienced men' here so she can prove she's the real deal and she doesn't want to stop rubbing it in their faces anytime soon. She's _so_ humble that way.

Needless to say, she kicks all kinds of ass in the afternoon. Court is her bitch, and the man she's interrogating – the tough, thug producer Jerome – is so intimidated and thrown by her that his defence crumbles and she's gotten Mercedes an extra five million out of his lawyers because its revealed he made up certain numbers to steal the cash. It was some dramatic-ass court (her absolute favourite kind) and thankfully they didn't have to carry on any longer. Case closed, money pawned.

Mercedes is especially satisfied because she dated Jerome and did not want to lose this case at any cost, feeling stupid for thinking she could trust him.

"Jones has officially signed on with us," Horton is telling her in his huge-ass penthouse office afterwards, not failing to hide how absolutely surprised he is that a woman is actually doing noteworthy work in their firm by winning cases they all thought were lost causes. This Jones case makes the fourth one this year. "How about we go out tonight and celebrate, you have made an important client very happy and you've put a new fear for people who will face _Evans & Pierce_ in court."

Santana wants to correct him that, actually, she's put more fear for people who will face _her_ in court over their firm _Evans & Pierce_, but whatever. She's making a name for herself and it will only get tougher from here on so she's not going to get upset that her boss is misogynistic because her boss is happy and impressed that the case is done and dealt with already, they both got a nice pay-day with a bunch of zeroes and a new A-list client, and now she's got a hot date that should last all night long.

She's Santana Lopez; she can go all night every night.

(Her anger management trainer said she had too much pride but what did he know?)

"Unfortunately, I've got dinner plans," she stands up but shakes hands with her boss anyways. "It would be rude to cancel on short notice."

Over her dead body will she cancel on _Brittany: _The Living Wet Dream of Flexible Wonders,to eat food with men who will make sexist jokes all night in envy because she's clearly the better lawyer. She gets enough of that crap at work, she deserves some victory sex for her hard day.

Horton thankfully doesn't push her for details and says, "well, have a nice night then. We can always celebrate tomorrow!"

Yeah, no. She'll make sure to take the morning off.

Shit. Then again, she doesn't want to miss countering the sexist jokes tomorrow with a very smug, "isn't your salary supposed to be more than mine?"

She will have to power-nap before her date.

/

Dinner that night is the best Santana has ever had, and that's not because it's a reputable restaurant with mouth-watering pasta and elegant wine, it's because _Brittany_ is… totally amazing. Like, she's the only girl Santana has met who can pull off a bright pink dress in a five star restaurant and make complaining about a fat-ass cat called 'Lord Tubbington' sexy.

Santana had previously wondered if she might have to find a new gym in preparation for after the date because, yeah, her and _Brittany_ seemed to be on the same 'let's fuck each other' page but if there's one thing Santana has learned in her lesbian quests it's that some girls are unpredictable. They might say one thing but mean another thing entirely.

Evidence: Larissa, the college roommate gone college room-hate. She wanted to experiment, so Santana did her due diligence and delivered amazing orgasms. Then Larissa came out of the closet and wanted to date but Santana did not sign up for that and things got ugly. There were shoes thrown at her, and the bitch even set Santana's brand new black leather jacket on fire.

So, yeah, she thought through all possibilities such Brittany turning out to be some crazy-ass motherfucker, but she obviously hadn't thought through every _scenario_ because she never thought she'd _like_ the girl for more than sex. Which she is. Liking the girl. For more than the inevitable sex.

Brittany was charming and funny and sweet and adorable and something way too perfect to be real.

(All night baby, all night.)

The restaurant they're at is across from a hotel (totally pre-planned, obviously) which they visit after leaving dessert only half-finished because sharing that heavenly delight of chocolate was way too much foreplay to handle. They practically ran out of there.

By the time they've booked a Queen-sized bed on the tenth floor, there's an awkward moment as they both slam down credit cards to pay for it.

"You got dinner," Brittany says, sliding her card an inch extra toward the totally blushing/secretly intrigued and turned on receptionist who has probably never been so grateful to work here as she is right at the moment, experiencing their hotness. In Santana's opinion, of course.

"I don't like being paid for," Santana decides to go with honesty. It's not _entirely_ a chivalrous thing because she doesn't do chivalrous. Except that, okay, Brittany is awesome and she kind of already did 'chivalrous' at dinner because of it. Whatever. She just hates feeling indebted to anyone. She's got her issues.

"I don't think you're a hooker," Brittany looks confused, and god bless how she says some things Santana has to blink and think through. It's kind of a turn on (somehow). Santana loves those bubblegum pink lips and that red-alert innocence shining out of clear blue eyes. She's never met someone who keeps it real like Brittany does (or brings up unicorns twice during a dinner conversation while playing footsy).

"What? No. Brittany, I'll pay. I _want_ to pay."

"No," Brittany puts her hand on her hip, and Santana isn't used to people saying 'no' to her.

This is also a turn-on. It's pretty ridiculous that her body is even capable of being turned on further at this point. This anticipation is getting way too insane.

"Now you're making _me_ feel like a hooker," the blonde tells her in explanation.

Santana doesn't want her to feel that way. "Yeah, well, it's just a room for one night-"

"Exactly. So let me pay."

Santana can see a fork in the road. If she goes slightly right and lets Brittany pay, she'll get laid. If she goes slightly left and forces her own credit card down the receptionist's throat, she probably won't get laid. It's her pride over her vagina, and she has to think really hard on which is more important in that moment.

"Fine."

Brittany's smile is totally worth her brief loss-of-pride, and the receptionist can barely string together a coherent sentence before handing over some key cards. Brittany announces the room number out loud as they wait for the elevator to take them upstairs.

They're alone in the elevator, heading towards a room for the sole purpose of having sex. The more she thought about what they were about to do, the more Santana got turned on. She was practically panting like an animal in heat and totally caught Brittany rubbing her thighs together.

She tries to strike some polite conversation to distract herself and tells her date, "So, you look really hot tonight."

"Thanks. So do you. Super hot."

"Thanks."

It wasn't a very good distraction or a very good conversation, and Brittany is smirking because she totally knows the effect she has on Santana right now.

The light jazz playing in the elevator replaces the rest of their conversation until a ding announces they have arrived on the designated floor. Santana rakes her eyes over Brittany with appreciation as the blonde leads the way to the room.

As soon as the hotel room door closes, Santana has envisioned how she will press Brittany against the door and fuck her there first, but her date surprises her with the first kiss and is already pinning her against the door, using a wild tongue in delicious, naughty strokes.

Santana has learned three things about tongues from sex throughout her life:

It's best when a woman uses her tongue _between_ your thighs (there really is no greater pleasure… maybe BreadtstiX breadsticks)

Usually women who talk too much are best at using their tongues (she has enough drunk rambling hook-ups to know)

And, most importantly,

Don't let anyone dominate you with a kiss because then they think they're in charge and Santana Lopez is _always_ in charge (what? She's got control issues, as pointed out by a previous anger management counsellor)

Santana loses her mind in that moment and she lets Brittany dominate her with a simple kiss. It's so hot she can't even remember her own name for a moment, let alone how she never lets anyone dominate her with a simple fucking kiss.

"Mmmm," Brittany bites gently on Santana's earlobe and then leans back to admire her handiwork (a breathless Santana). "I'm going to go freshen up in the bathroom... _You_ can get under the covers. Preferably naked."

Santana nods and only manages to find her breath when the bathroom door shuts. She undresses herself quickly but takes the time to lay her expensive black dress on the hotel armchair with care. She makes sure the hotel room curtains are closed to discourage spying pervs, and then turns off all the lights except for a single lamp in the corner to give the room a more sensual atmosphere.

The hotel sheets are very soft as she slides in-between them, and she's in the process of removing her jewellery and placing it on the bedside table when Brittany struts out of the bathroom, totally confident and sexy and in nothing but a baby blue bra and thong.

Like she needed another reason to believe this was her dream woman.

Santana's used to a little more foreplay, but Brittany's sultry pose against the doorframe of the bathroom is enough foreplay to get her wet. She's totally not thinking anything past 'sex right now' and has never seen a woman in baby-blue lingerie, and Brittany pulls it off like a fucking boss. Brittany slides under the covers without any preamble and sighs contently as Santana turns into her so their skin can touch.

And then they're fucking.

It was like igniting a matchstick, the moment they touched they were all over each other and already reaching climax.

Brittany's caught between moaning and panting, the non-faking kind that Santana loves most, and they're trying to remove all undergarments to be completely naked for round-two. Then round three starts even sooner than Santana expected. Brittany needs, like, no recover time.

It's awesome.

Santana can't help but wonder what will happen after they've finished fucking like bunnies. She didn't expect to want another date but she does want one, and she's not entirely sure how to ask for one.

Like the smooth criminal she is, she chooses round four as the moment to ask, "When can I see you again?"

Where did her game go? It just up and left her when she needed it.

Brittany pauses her enthusiastic straddling to look down at Santana and quirk an eyebrow in utter confusion. "You mean, this isn't a one night stand? I thought it was."

Santana shrugs and hates how vulnerable she sounds, "I thought it was too but then, you know... I'm starting to really like you... so… let's go out again… soon."

Of fucking course, her way with words fails her the one time she needs it the most. Brittany looks hesitant, but the cat is out of the bag so she tries to rephrase herself and seem less pathetic.

"I mean, will you go out with me again?" Shit. That might have made her look _more_ pathetic.

Or so she was kicking herself until delicate pink lips whispered gently into her ear, "That can be arranged. I'm starting to like you too."

/

It turns out that seven months later, they keep getting along. Brittany isn't annoying, the attraction doesn't leave but grows, and she's actually a great friend to talk with and to have. Santana isn't a 'friend' kind of girl (she has none, maybe Becky on Fridays). People tend to hate her and she usually hates them first, but Brittany is different.

Brittany is everything magical and beautiful in this cruel, miserable world. She's a companion Santana didn't know she needed until she found.

So, yeah, they're dating. And having sex, obviously, but the romance starts to kick off.

Like, they eat breakfast together and watch the news together when Brittany sleeps over. They even go to the movies and have Britney Spears sing-a-longs in the car, and Santana even took Brittany as a date backstage to meet Mercedes Jones at the R&B singer's concert.

Sometimes they text each other just because, and Santana has even invited Brittany over so she can _cook_ for her. She's never cooked for anyone except herself. Brittany returned the favour because she was super sweet, but she was all kinds of horrible in the kitchen. She found recipes confusing and often improvised the most disgusting dishes (as evidenced by her raw meat and boiling chocolate dessert).

Still, despite the fact that Santana got food poisoning, she wanted Brittany around. They kind of fit like puzzle pieces.

And now she was smiling. Only around Brittany or because of Brittany, but still. The braces she wore when she was younger and her intense dental-hygiene care have paid off because she's finally using her smile naturally in life now, thanks to _Brittany_.

She's pretty sure it's love but sometimes she's afraid to admit it.

Brittany Pierce is now Santana's girlfriend, her first real girlfriend, and Santana is finally starting to understand why people can be obsessed with romance so much. With the right person, it was pretty fucking awesome.

/

Friday, before her clocking out to star her work-free weekend, it takes her two hours to gather all important documents into her briefcase and sort out what she's going to make Becky take to the dry-cleaners while she recites some of her points for court out loud. She pretty much keeps a spare closet in her office, the place has more of her stuff than her apartment. Brittany even had more stuff than she did at her apartment.

"I'm not your fucking maid Santana," Becky tells her, as Santana plops the clothes on her secretary's desk.

"You know our deal," Santana rolls her eyes, "add your own clothes in it and I pay. Done. Now get, I needs to be in court. Call my cell if there's an emergency."

Becky gives her the finger. It's her version of 'good luck.'

Santana is in court with both of her bosses, Horton Pierce and Michael Evans, sitting in the background and listening to them both whisper about the fifty-million dollar class action suit they're filing for against business mogul Sue Sylvester. She kind of zones out because she spent the whole week with hardly any sleep working on this case with them working long, long hours.

"Guess we'll take the weekend off. Sylvester is going to settle now because even she knows she could go to jail for this shit," Michael Evans says out loud as they gather up their papers.

Santana stands patiently as her bosses, and the heir of Michael Evans one big-lips Sam, have their usual boy-talk. She needs a quick word and then she'll leave.

"Yeah, definitely need a weekend," Horton sighs loudly with animation. "Apparently my oldest girl is now a lesbian and I get to meet her latest lover tonight at my birthday party."

"Seriously?" Sam Evans blushes and clears his throat when he notices Santana is still there. "But, I mean… uh…"

Horton Pierce clasps his hand over the boy's shoulder, "Samuel why don't you put on your nicest suit and drop my house for the party? You and my Bree were _great_ together. Perfect. She misses you, I know it. She's just acting out at her parents like girls do."

Michael shrugs and jokes with his son, "Do the man a favour, Sam. He's your boss!"

Santana rolls her eyes when the men in general suddenly notice her through their chuckles. They quieten down, because as much of a boys club her work is… her bosses don't underestimate her value anymore. Her client list has some of their major players and they all know they'd pick Santana over the firm if she wanted to leave.

She's got them right where she wants them. Respecting because she's got a quarter of their business in the palm of her hand.

With her patented non-smile on her face she says, "We shouldn't take the weekend off entirely. My guess is come Sunday, Sylvester will counter-suit."

"Counter-suit for what?" Sam dumbly asks.

Santana just shoulders her leather satchel and leaves, knowing the other men were experienced enough to agree with her. She hears them mumbling their agreement and teaching Sam the likely shenanigans Sylvester could take out against their firm.

When she gets outside, smiles brightly at the sight of her girlfriend waiting for her with two cups of coffee. Without missing a beat, Brittany slips and arm through hers leads her over to a cab with a sexy, "hey baby."

Once they're in the cab and heading towards Santana's place, Santana is given her delicious French Vanilla.

"How was the studio?" Santana asks her, smiling adoringly (can you blame her? Brittany is fucking adorable) as Brittany plays shyly with her leather satchel's buckles.

"It was so totally fun. So… you know how we were supposed to meet my parents tonight?"

"They cancelled? Thank god," Santana hopes desperately.

She has like, no friends, no family, and only Brittany. Excuse her if she's been a little hesitant to meet her everything's parents.

"San." Brittany gives her a 'look' of be-serious-now-or-I-pout but Santana can tell she's laughing under the surface from the way her blue eyes twinkle. "No. Mom called and told me she convinced Daddy to host a party with a bunch of people, so it would be like an ice-breaker and that way he'll behave himself in front of other. Whatever that means."

The cab stops and Santana already has ten bucks at the ready that she took out while Brittany was speaking. They slide out of the car and Brittany high-fives Santana's doorman because Brittany is the most amazing thing to ever grace this earth and even Santana's doorman knows it.

"So, a party? Like, what kind of… of party."

The elevator is always pretty fast, and Brittany is the one to use her own key on Santana's door before they enter the spacious place.

"My little sister just finished her exams so we're hosting a party for her."

Santana puts her satchel down on the stool near her kitchen counter and then pulls Brittany in for a hug.

She knows parts of this story. Brittany's sister, Gracie, is more school-driven than Brittany had ever been. Gracie became a lawyer like Brittany's parents while Brittany barely passed high-school and chose to dance. Apparently it's always been a problem and ongoing argument.

"Hey, I'll take them to court for thinking you were wrong about dance and beat them."

Brittany melts into her a little bit, so Santana knows she said something right (sometimes she says the wrong thing and Brittany gets cutely furious and teaches her a lesson).

"It's not even the dancing really, it's how they've never let me do what I want. It always has to be what they want. Which is why I told them nothing about you, if I bring up the lawyer thing they'll use it against you."

"How?" Santana is curious. "I thought they didn't like me because I'm a girl."

"That too. Just, promise me you won't break up with me because of my crazy parents?"

"Sure," Santana says easily. She couldn't care less about making other uncomfortable. Brittany was hers now, the Pierce family could just back off and deal with it.

"Sure?" Brittany pouts. "You're supposed to be more romantic, Santana."

"Look, I'm going to do my part in this Britt-Britt. I'll make myself all kinds of hot, make sure they know I'm proud of you and, seriously, I was disowned by my only family member and kicked out onto the streets for being gay. I think I can handle this."

A few hours later, she's letting Brittany tug her by the hand up the giant stone staircase of her family house. It is a pretty huge-ass house.

There are a ton of voices and it actually a pretty big shin-dig. Santana follows Brittany up to the blonde's old room, getting a giggle tour of the place (this is where Brittany and her sister burned a mark into the carpet, oh and right there is where she made out with her boyfriends and girlfriends from high-school because the sound of the garage carried over so she could always tell when someone came home).

Brittany's room is way too pink and predictably filled with stuffed animals. Santana has never made nice with the colour pink, but Brittany loves it (which is the only reason why there are some pink towels at her place). The apartment Brittany lived in now was shared with a Goth-girl called Tina who liked dark colours, so they were literally a pink-black split.

"So, one more time. Gracie is cool. Mom will be polite as hell but she won't say what she really thinks of you and-"

"And your dad will probably start introducing us to young men so I better hold your hand intimately and let you kiss me at least once on the lips."

Brittany laughs hysterically before wiping a tear from the corner of her eyes and gasping out, "I swear !t's the only way!"

"Save it," Santana is laughing with her, she really can't help how absolutely fucking perfect Brittany is. "I know this is just your ploy to force me into PDA."

Santana hates PDA. Sure, some hand or arm holding with a side of hugging is cool. But kisses and stuff are meant for closed doors. According to Brittany, however, tonight might require PDA to make a firm statement to her dad so he won't try to set her up with any boys.

"It's time," Brittany smiles. "You know, I was really nervous about tonight but now… I know that this is just formalities, Santana. I don't care if they don't approve because I…"

They've danced around these words for way too long, and Santana's breathless whispers of love when Brittany is passed out and sleeping don't count, so Santana closes her eyes and adds in intimately, "me too."

/

There are less people downstairs than Santana had thought there would be (there was a lot of chattering, though which made her uncomfortable). She noticed an even split of old adults and young adults and how everybody's eyes were on her with Brittany, smoking hot daughter of house, and how they're hands were joined as they walked around.

"Let's get a drink, my parents keep the – Gracie!" Brittany squeals and greets her little sister with a happy hug, dropping Santana's hand. Santana doesn't smile, she kind of winces at their display actually, but then her own name is being called. With incredulity.

"Santana Lopez?"

She spins around, and says with her own incredulity, "Quinn Fabray? Seriously. I thought you were In England."

"You _know_ Quinn?" Brittany asks with shocked smile. She has let go of her sister and is now giving Quinn a hug.

"Yeah. We studied together." Santana tells her girlfriend.

"Santana, we were roommates for three years." Quinn is grinning in amusement, as if Santana was joking. Santana feels happy to see her, she actually kind of missed Quinn. Quinn was a bullshit free girl who didn't piss her off and liked the same music she did. Sometimes they studied together.

"Yeah, for college."

"We're old friends," Quinn shoves her shoulder playfully (apparently serious and unaware that Santana is shocked because Santana didn't know they were friends), "so you're THE Santana Brittany here is dating, hmm? Small world. Seriously. This is way too insane."

It is pretty fucking insane.

"Yes, Quinn, Santana here is my _girlfriend_. San, this is my cousin Quinn and my little sister Gracie."

"Hi Santana," a confident hand is stuck out at her like a typical law grad trying to make an impression. Santana shakes Gracie's hand briefly and tries to smile.

"Hi."

"I can't believe you're dating each other," Quinn adds again. "Brittany hates the family lawyer quality and she's dating you of all people. You lived for the law in college."

Santana raises her chin as Brittany laughs with her cousin, and shakes her head in disbelief when Brittany says like it's the most casual thing in the world, "yep. I _would_ fall in love with a lawyer. Life is funny that way."

As the other three women giggle, Santana finds herself smiling easily. Because, you know, Brittany is in love with her. She just said it out loud.

Holy crap.

"Britt didn't say you were a lawyer!" The newly graduated Gracie is all over her with questions, just as Brittany had predicted she would be. Santana compares notes with the younger hot but not as hot Pierce girl as Quinn and Brittany retreat for some drinks.

Shit hits the fan two minutes later when Brittany hands her a drink and then leans in for the 'required' PDA moment.

Really, it's just an innocent kiss on her cheek but it happens at the worst possible time. It happens just when Santana swore she saw her boss, Michael Evans.

Then, as Brittany's teasing her sister about something, there's a confused, "Santana?"

Followed by her seeing Trouty Mouth and being able to piece things together.

Sam Evans was supposed to be swaying Horton's daughter tonight from being a lesbian. Horton whose last name is Pierce. Santana is in fucking love with one Brittany Pierce. Brittany Pierce has wealthy lawyer parents.

Santana is fucking her boss's daughter.

Wow. Quinn was right. Fucking small world.

"Hey Sam," Brittany gives him a smile and the boy turns a bit red before his eyes dart back and forth between Brittany and Santana with shocked understanding.

Santana gives him a glare and takes a swallow of her drink. She leans in to whisper into Brittany's ear, "Britt. Please tell me your dad is not Horton Pierce."

Brittany gasps and then looks her in the eyes, "baby?"

"Fuck." Santana breathes out. "Shit. Fuck."

"What?" Brittany leans in a bit closer. "Are you mortal lawyer enemies or something? Daddy has some of those."

That awkward moment when Santana realised she was sleeping with her boss's daughter…

"He's my boss."

Was really fucking awkward.

/

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Tossed in some Britt POV. She's hard to write so I hope I did her character justice. Enjoy ;P

Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.

_**That Awkward Moment When**_

When the whole 'Holy-fucking-shit-Brittany-is-the-boss's-hot-daug hter' panic attack started to fade away, Santana was left with a variation of troubling emotions- the usual cycle of dealing that was taught to her in that behaviour-course during law school. (And then again reasoned in anger management.)

First came the denial emotion.

Like, there was no way the boring man she listened to drone on and on (and on) about the fancy new laser printer in their office that Tuesday staff meeting was the father of her Brittany, the very Brittany who took goofy photos of herself (in a bra, sometimes) and put them up as Santana's screensaver or background pic (cellphone, home laptop, and home computer included). Because that Brittany bought duck magnets for her fridge and posted little "love you" notes in crayon, and the occasional "wear this tonight xoxxo" while Horton bitched out a first year associate for using green pen on a memo instead of blue or black.

It was ridiculous. It was too much of a joke to be real, really. It was weirder than that time Santana found a vibrator in her grandmother's linen closet.

Horton was a snarky asshole who seemed to think women were beneath him and once snarled at the guy at the coffee stand outside of the law courts for not giving him his nickel of change, while Brittany was so nice she gave a homeless guy her favourite tuque on a chilly night and her last dollar bills because his ears were bright red from the cold and he should go get himself a coffee (unless he doesn't drink coffee, in which case Brittany recommended hot chocolate).

"Wait," Brittany's brows are furrowing right now. "You work for dad? _That's_ where you work?"

She nods and hesitantly looks around. Other than Sam, she doesn't see anyone else from the office.

After realising that this wasn't some sick nightmare, the rage started to fizzle.

Okay, so, it was minor rage, not rage-rage. And Santana had a lot of experience with rage. Just ask the unfortunate man that groped her on the subway a few years ago. He can no longer have children (probably) and was the reason she was legally advised anger-management on her twenty-first birthday.

Her third anger management counsellor (she's had quite a few) use to make her snap a rubber band on her wrist so that when she got angry she would feel pain and be able to calm down a bit, but, yeah, like a rubber band does _not_ accessorize very well so she only pretended to follow his instruction. Turns out the self-infliction of pain kind of worked, because the nails she's unintentionally dug into her palm right now snapped her out of the bubbling anger.

And really, what was there to be angry about? How her boss was such an ignorant douche that he thought of forcing the (half) gay out of his daughter via Sam Evans? Because there was no way that guy whose lips were so big you couldn't even pay attention to the words he said, was getting near her Brittany.

No fucking way.

"You and Sam?" Santana asked her girlfriend, who looked deep in thought at the revelation of Santana working for Horton and was twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger and not looking worried, just thoughtful. Like what fucking topping to get on her sundae kind of thoughtful.

"Me and Sam what?" Brittany shook her head of whatever thought had been running through it and raised an eyebrow.

"You… dated him?"

Brittany blinks once, tilts her head, and then scrunches her forehead. She says with a bit of guilt, "Kind of… I may have used him. Once."

Santana wonders when they made it near a table that had bottles of liquor, but God bless Brittany who is now pouring them some shots of whiskey. After she accepts the mini-glass and gulps down some burning Jack, she scratchily asks, "Used him?"

"Maybe five times," Brittany confesses, now sounding regretful after indulging in her own shot. "It was during a needy phase. I injured my shoulder and got scared that I might have to give up dancing and… and Sam was there, you know. He gave me attention and I thought he was sweet."

"Britt, he's _gross_." Santana knows this was a past thing and all, but she is fully capable of being irrationally jealous and irritated. Especially because: "he sits in his office and goofs off while I actually work my ass off and he STILL gets the same Christmas bonus as me all because his daddy is name partner! Becky even told me he spent an hour in the men's room practicing a Sean Connery expression! Trust me, you don't want any of that big-lipped, dorky, lazy ass."

Brittany lets out a sigh at her blindsided rant and then pours them both another shot.

"Stop being jealous, Santana. He's just a friend."

"Who's friends with their ex?" Santana catches Sam looking in their direction and narrows her eyes, pleased when he snaps his eyes away to the other side of the room. She's so not threatened. Not all. Even though Sam has a few female secretaries at work drooling over him, and that paralegal whose office was nearby and thought a good conversation starter with Santana would be giggling about the Guppy Lips' abs.

"Hardly an ex. More like a… partial-ex," Brittany explains.

"Yeah, well… he sucks and he looks like Lisa Rinna. I'm _much_ better." She intended to sound badass, but the words betray her because of the laced vulnerability. Because just that afternoon Brittany's dad, her fucking boss (shit, shit, shit on that little reveal), was practically trying to sell his daughter to Sam's ginormous mouth.

Sam who most girls at work found charming and attractive.

Brittany laughs in response, not quite the response Santana was looking for, and covers her mouth after people turn to look at her curiously. Santana feels silly and really, really nauseous. Until her girlfriend leans over and kisses her. Like, Brittany just went for it. Right on the lips. Right in front of Sam Evans and all these people.

It was brief, but very effective. At calming Santana down. They agreed on cheek only kisses and Brittany was only allowed to do it twice, max. But she'd let it slide because she really needed that and it wasn't like they were French-kissing (like the nasties in the far corner over there) so it was okay.

Brittany still looks amused as she backs away and murmurs gently, "this is not a contest, honey. Calm down."

Santana is calmed down (now), but she also has her competitive issues and can't help but add, "Oh please. There would be no contest. He has _nothing_ on me. Anything he can do I can do better! And not just marginally better, but a whole lot better."

After her short, egoistic tirade is done, her shoulders fall and she stares awkwardly off to the side.

"Done?" Brittany asks, with a sly and all-knowing grin.

"Sorry."

With that issue brought up and dealt, Brittany brings up in a worried and protective-girlfriend tone what she's actually worried about. Her Dad. "My Dad is a good boss, right? I mean, this isn't that weird. You're such a hot shot at work so… he must respect you, right?"

There are way too many wrong things to say to that, so Santana shrugs. What can she say? He wasn't good, he wasn't terrible, he was just a man who held legitimate power over her at the office and came off as sexist. And didn't give her a promotion she well deserved for almost a year now.

But Horton can suck it because his daughter likes to suck-

Crap.

After her denial and rage, there was supposed to be depression and acceptance… but Santana is her own brand of awesomeness (that Becky calls craziness), and her next emotion is all arousal.

Because, hello? The man who thinks less of her because she's got boobs, a vagina, and no facial hair growing capabilities? Yeah, him. His _daughter_ is a freak in the sheets and Santana has had almost eight months to get acquainted with some of that freakiness. And then some.

She meets Brittany's eyes now, blue orbs still twinkling with absolutely no fears whatsoever at this whole predicament. No embarrassment, no shame, no apologies, only a hint of worry for Santana's job. She was still Brittany and this was the same level of trouble to Brittany as Lord Tubbington peeing all over Santana's suede Chanel boots: a speed bump kind of trouble. Something Brittany could smooth over with a sensual kiss and tummy rub.

Nothing between them will change, her eyes are saying. But everything between Santana and Horton is going to change and Santana has a feeling things are about to get ugly at work. She best wear her lucky lingerie come Monday.

Of course when she's mentally thinking of lingerie, like right at the specific moment, Horton Pierce with both his snotty-looking Missus and cliché glass of scotch have to appear out of thin air.

Brittany steps closer and steals her arm to link it.

"Hey Dad. Mom. This is Santana that I told you about. How funny is it that she works for you Dad? We just found out right now. What a coincidence."

Horton opens his mouth and then closes it. He hums and when Santana meets his eyes, they both gulp down their drinks.

Brittany's mom smiles politely and says, daintily as a crumpet, "Why h-hello Santana. So nice to finally meet you…"

Santana wants to smile back, she really does, but she can only manage a brief nod because Horton is literally staring her down now and she's Santana Lopez, Queen of Issues, so she can't help but retaliate and stare him down right back.

It was on. Whatever it was.

When she thought about it, no, she probably wouldn't get fired. It wouldn't be the smartest move on his part since she's got some leeway at work with her clients and reputation... But he was clearly not welcoming her new title as Brittany's girlfriend.

He finally decided to say something.

"I think… I see Michael trying to get my attention. Be right back darling," Horton pressed a kiss to his wife's cheek and practically scurried off.

His face was bright red and not at all pleased, and Brittany looked really confused.

"Is Dad okay?"

No, Santana wanted to say. The man was not okay. He just realised that his daughter is dating the woman he hired a few years ago – out of necessity - and that she overheard him in court earlier that day, claiming his daughter was a rebel gay or whatever. He was probably embarrassed and Santana thought it served him right.

Or maybe he was quietly fuming and planning ways to destroy her.

He gave no "back off my daughter" threats or even a "how you finding that laser printer, Santana? And aren't staples just our office saviour?" attempt at conversation, he practically ignored that she even existed. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

"It's a bit warm in here," Santana says to Brittany, also feeling her palms sweat from the shock of that weird interaction with her boss.

Maybe he _would_ fire her, clientele be damned. Shit. Well, if he did, she'd just have to start somewhere else and cancel the lease on her car. And, double shit, hold off on her Jimmy Choo spring season back-order.

"Don't mind your father, he's not feeling well," Mrs. Pierce covered for her husband smoothly.

"Your home is lovely, Mrs. Pierce," Santana said after taking a long, long sip of her tenth unknown alcoholic drink.

Compliment the mom. Check.

"Why thank you… um… if you'll excuse me-" And the Missus was off.

Brittany's hand shook Santana's arm gently. "They're both being weird. You really spooked Dad. I've never seen him so shocked before."

"Well, not my fault he doesn't check your Facebook, babe. And seriously? How did I not put this together? Your dad is my boss and he has your last name and your ex-"

"Partial."

"—is the dork from work who should, frankly, open up a business in which he gets paid to open pickle jars with that massive jaw. Britt, I work at Pierce&Evans. Did I never tell you that?"

"Nope," Brittany shrugs casually. "You called it the Death Firm and… I guess that makes my dad the Emperor Paperclip boss, Mr. Evans Jabba the Donut -your other boss -which makes sense because he actually does love his donuts, and Sam… was..?"

"Jar Jar Trouty Mouth. Who I killed with the force every time he got complimented for MY hard work."

"Take a breath, Darth Santana. At least Gracie thinks you're cool," Brittany offers. "And, yeah, this is creepy and we should probably change the roles around so my Dad is Darth Vader instead of you and I'm Luke because Leia's hair scares me and he's the one who Vader said 'I am your father' too… no wait, I'd have to be Leia because Luke doesn't have a sex life, then you'd have to be Han… and Tubbs can be Chewbacca. Done."

"As long as Jar Jar Trouty Mouth stays, whatever." She agrees. Brittany makes her smile and feel a bit better about things.

"But… it's not going to affect us, right?" Brittany whispers.

"Well… I hope not," Santana manages to say.

Brittany's eyebrows furrow and she says with a bit of an uncharacteristic edge, "It. Won't."

Santana lets out a sigh and slams back the rest of her drink. "I won't let it affect us, okay?"

"Me either," Brittany relaxes.

"Should we, I don't know, leave or something? Don't really want to make this more uncomfortable than it already is... And I needs some cuddles. Let's go home?" Santana proposes her girlfriend with her best puppy-dog eyes.

"Not home," Brittany tugs her hand and shoots a mischievous grin at Santana's pout, "After this lame party, we need something with more energy. Old people make me sleepy."

/

"Britt said you guys met at the gym," Brittany overhears her sister say to Santana. Santana is sitting on her old bed, a bed that is embarrassingly still encased in bright pink sheets, but Brittany is very good when it comes to dealing with embarrassment. She deflects it on to someone else.

Santana just makes a face and then gets mad. It was usually cute, and right now it was funny because Santana is panicking about what to tell Gracie even though Gracie knows all about how Brittany and Santana starred in their own soft porno before becoming monogamous.

"Uh…" Santana is heard saying just before Quinn shuts the bathroom door and takes a seat on the toilet, blocking what was sure to have been an adorable Santana saying 'yeah, Britt helped me stretch.'

Hell yeah she did.

"Are you still getting it on with my buddy Chang? Any plans on having his Asian babies?" She teases Quinn while rolling the hot curling iron between her cousin's blonde hair. Quinn's cheeks spark red with embarrassment. Brittany wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. It's about time Quinn gave her vagina something to party about.

"We're _just_ having sex. You know me, Britt, I've never had a sex life quite like yours so I'm having my fun."

"Just saying… because I invited him out. He'll meet us there."

Quinn sits a bit straighter and starts attacking the makeup bag left on the counter. Brittany think 'just sex my ass' but doesn't comment further.

She knew Mike and Quinn would hit it off, she's a great matchmaker. Just ask her parents who had a shotgun marriage when Brittany's mom had an unexpected pregnancy.

"_Speaking_ of getting it on," Quinn says while debating what eye shadow to use, "your girlfriend is my old roommate and I didn't even know she was gay. Wow."

"This is weird isn't it? Plus Santana works for my dad." Brittany puts the iron down on the counter and fluffs Quinn's hair with some mouse.

Quinn says, "what? Seriously?"

"Just found out," Brittany says casually, stepping back and crossing her arms over her chest. "My parents freaked and Santana freaked. But it could have gone worse. I think it'll be fine."

She's pretending it's not that bizarre for Santana's sake since Santana looked ready to self-combust (the non orgasmic kind), so she lets her walls down in the bathroom with Quinn.

"Yeah..." Quinn eyes her curiously and then says, "well, your dad is hiring Gracie within the week too, so basically your girlfriend will be surrounded by the in-laws."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"It's cute," Brittany finally said. She stepped back from Quinn as the blonde lawyer started removing her work clothes, ignoring the in-law remark. If she didn't put too much worry into the situation, it wouldn't worry her. So she was done worrying about it.

"What's cute?"

"Your hair. Duh."

/

Santana had seen this phenomenon on television, watched others take part in this action as she grew up, but never really been a part of it.

Drinks with 'friends.'

Okay, that's a bit of a lie. She partied in college. A lot. And at law school.

When Quinn was her roommate during the first two years of law school (until Quinn left to intern with some massive firm in England), they used to even have joint parties at their apartment.

Santana perfected her sexual techniques through them parties. She owed a lot to that practice, it was the hook that helped her catch Brittany after all. Now it was only a matter of keeping Brittany.

Engagement ring?

Shits. She was drunk. Brittany would probably slap her if she proposed marriage anytime soon. She like, just met the parents (oh the irony) a few hours ago.

Also, Brittany had very strong views on diamonds since she saw Blood Diamond. She loved referencing that movie every time Santana wore diamonds to try and discourage her from buying them but Santana loved her diamonds so it was a small bit of contention between them.

She might have to give up diamonds. Damn it, she was seriously in love here.

Everything was fuzzy and she wasn't entirely sure if that was one of Brittany's hands or both of them playing with her boob.

"Uhndah mah shirt. We in pub."

"You're so hot Santana."

"Lick. Puuuublic."

"She's got a point, Britt," Quinn slurred. "Even though you're my favourite cousin, especially when I have to witness my baby cousin Gracie practically hump legs on the dancefloor-"

Which Gracie was doing ten feet away on the dance floor. Very passionately.

"—I do not need to see you grope your girlfriend."

While Brittany ignored Quinn's request and continued palming Santana's breast (and giving her a nice neck hickey), Santana felt like some high schooler gone wild and it made the whole thing kind of fun. This was why people did PDA. It felt good.

And now she was a hypocrite. Love was changing her, fuck.

Then again, it wasn't _really_ PDA since they had a private booth and Brittany was effectively hiding and trapping her in the corner.

"Babe, thas m'fav bra," she managed to tell her finger-happy girlfriend. It was Victoria Secret's Fall line, silk and embroidered. "You ma lady'luv, y'know that right?"

Brittany used a bit more teeth on the hickey, moaning like Santana's neck was a box of Dots. Quinn was now standing up to leave them since her cousin and spontaneously reunited friend were too drunk and horny to give her attention (she was going to back out on the dance floor and find Mike. Maybe grope his abs and take him home).

With the steady ministrations of a dirty, talented tongue and bubblegum lips making love to her neck, Santana felt everything fade away. She had consumed a shit ton of alcohol and was borderline passing out, and she was feeling oddly philosophic.

Thinking back on her life, Santana had never been a rebellious girl – the kind that would go streaking in the neighborhood and drink with boys, maybe even inhale some drugs.

First of all, her grandmother would kick her ass for trying to eat a _cheeto_ let alone stay out past her curfew. And second, not one of the kids in her neighborhood ever invited the Hispanic girl to their birthdays. (Probably because her grandmother pretended she didn't understand English so people wouldn't bother talking to her.)

Sure, in high school Santana was the hottest piece of ass (source? Her own goddamn opinion, thank you very much) to ever grace those shitty halls, but she was also extra scared to step out of the lines her Commander Grandmother drew. Not that she would admit to being scared, but she was. If Chuck Norris met her grandmother, even Chuck Norris might concede on that shit.

Still, her hotness was what kept her from getting bullied by boys like that freckled and spectacled Susie Pepper chick. Santana got invited to parties by senior boys all the time because of that epic hotness, and she _was_ just a young girl so she wanted to see what all the partying hype was about…but since girls tended to avoid her and talk about her behind her back because of jealousy or whatver, she was considered excommunicated.

Girls could be vicious so she had to find a way to fight back.

That was when her creative insults started, to show she wasn't just going to let anybody talk smack about her and get away with it unless they got a taste of their own medicine.

She hadn't _meant_ to be mean, honestly, but it was as natural as breathing. She was raised on insults and fresh garden salsa after all. And when people were afraid of you they left you alone and _that_ was a breath of fresh air. Girls were afraid of being judged by her twisted, demeaning words when the tables turned. That power gave her confidence and it helped her deal when she was in denial about why she bothered noticing things about other girls so much anyways.

Popular, alone, friendless, and super deep in the closet. It was a miracle she ever managed to find Brittany, really.

Then there was her Junior-year English teacher Mrs. Partovi a.k.a Mrs. Curvy Italian Body With D-Cup who all of the boys snickered and high-fived over. And she noticed her teacher in a naughty porno fantasy kind of way. (Dialogue was pretty naughty, too. It was all 'My Santana, have you been studying my ASSets?' and wanton moaning).

Brittany tilts her jaw and takes her lips in a searing, promising, heady kiss. "We should head home," she says, "and no more drinks Santana, I can barely understand what you're saying. Something about bitches crying in fear and… ass?"

It was starting to get pretty glaringly obvious, at that time in Mrs. Partovi's class (the hour of damaged and shameful porn fantasies), that she was some kind of suppressed, raging homosexual. She was able to deny it at all hours of the day that didn't involve internet surfing or English class until she caught that cheerleader Rose Hall peeking at her in the change room after gym class. Santana's 'first time' was in the backseat of Rose Hall's car about an hour later.

She rocked Rose Hall's world and her ego only inflated more when Rose Hall admitted as much. Thankfully, both her and Rose Hall didn't want anyone to know and kept that secret.

She remembers how a day later Mrs. Partovi recruited her for the debate team and, with a fear of being found out if she played sports with other girls, she readily agreed to that extracurricular instead. The debate team got her that scholarship for college after all, and that scholarship was her lifesaver for when her grandmother did find out and kicked her to the damaged cement curb where they put the trash out on Thursdays.

"Babe," Brittany grabs her cheeks and steadies her dizzy face. "You're slurring. And crying about your Abuela again."

Her eyes water and she managed to slowly and loudly say, "did I ever tell you I was the captain of my debate team?"

"Yes, after I found the photos in your closet yearbook," Brittany is fidgeting with her hands, now tugging on the straps of Santana's dress to make sure they're in place.

"Make sure… yo'Dad knows my team wuzz State Champs. Got an invit..invit..invitatted to Chi-Chicago and kicked ASS."

"Uhuh."

"And, like, makesure heknows I have a BLACK bel-in Krat. Izzq been forever since I… a punch but I can do it, ya know! I fucking punch! I endzz all bitches."

"Here comes the crying," Brittany sighs to herself, but readily extends her arms so Santana can fall into them and be comforted during her explosion of drunk sobbing. "Santana, baby, why are you so worried?"

Hello? Couldn't Brittany read her mind? Her whole (closeted) high school life just flashed before her eyes and only one thing was clear: she was a (epically hot) mess in school, in home, in the backseat of Rose Hall's car, and in her own fucking mind.

"They can'take you 'way from me! I'll tie myself to you with-with those fuzzy pink handcuffs."

"You hate those handcuffs. You said they itch your wrists."

Santana blinks confusedly because she just realized they're in a taxi cab. When did they leave the club?

"No. Youright. We can… jus… use smmmmropeorsmmmthing." She seemed to kind of doze off there.

"Yeah," if she was awake she would see Brittany roll her eyes but smile tenderly as she mumbled to herself, "will probably have to take care of myself tonight."

/

Brittany had never been very good with cooking things. When she cooked for her parent's anniversary or birthdays, she'd really just order takeout and pretend she was the one who cooked it.

But, Santana had taught her how to use the crazy button-filled espresso machine in her apartment so she knew how to brew some coffee for her lady.

"How much did I drink last night?"

"Here drink this," Brittany placed a large glass of water in front of Santana, who had just woken up with a groggy voice and smudged makeup, while the coffee machine lit up.

"Ugh," Santana chugged half of the water back and sighed. "Where did I put the aspirin?"

"You don't have any."

Santana slurps more water, and Brittany smiles at the look of disdain on her girlfriend's face as she catches her reflection in the nearby toaster. Makeup smudged from crying, clothes from last night, hair a tangled mess…

"I look like crap. I'll go change."

Brittany pulled out some fruit loops and sighed. According to her daily astronomy sign in the newspaper, her home would become divided unless she took action.

Usually, she liked to read it and make fun of it but holy shit if that didn't sum up her latest problem.

Her dad was her girlfriend's boss. The same boss Santana loved making random cracks about when a 'work rant' followed her home. And Santana was the girl she told her dad about, and her dad was all 'you need to grow up and settle down Brittany, stop fooling around with your life. Sam would love to take you out for dinner.'

"Hey, Brittany," Santana is suddenly in front of her, wearing some cute sweats and a tight tee, and hair up in a ponytail. Santana leans over the counter with her arms and places a gentle kiss on Brittany's lips. It's minty from the toothpaste she just used, and a bit uncharacteristic from her morning grouchy girlfriend.

Then again, a lot of things become uncharacteristic since they're still getting to know each other day-by-day.

"Thanks for taking care of me last night," Santana leans back and smiles. "I hope I…. uh…"

"San. It's okay. This is weird but how about… we talk about it?"

"Did last night really happen?" Santana sits down and smiles in thanks when Brittany pours her coffee.

Brittany munches on her fruit loops and quirks her head. "You mean the part where you got drunk and cried a bit more than usual, or the part where we found out my dad is your boss?"

"You know what," Santana changes the subject, "let's go out. Shopping, a movie… anything. We can even go to the zoo if you want?"

Santana has her at zoo, and Brittany is perfectly fine with putting off talking about her parents.

/

Because of her stunning, jaw-dropping, panty-dropping, sinful good looks and figure, Santana had a home-field advantage with the whole 'romance' thing.

She got the girl in bed. Then, by some otherworldly miracle, she got the girl doing the sideway-splits in her bed. And now, by some higher being's good intentions or blessings or whatever (Thank You God), she got the girl's heart.

It came with a side of Awkward Circumstances, but whatever. Adaptation was key.

It was just a matter of keeping that heart happy and satisfied. They've been going strong for almost a year now, and no amount of Horton Pierce giving her glares (that she loves to return) at work will prevent her from currying Brittany's love.

Okay so getting the cold shoulder from Horton at work was making her anxious when it came to Brittany. He obviously didn't want her dating his daughter and was probably concocting some creepy plan that probably wouldn't work (like Sam Evans in a suit) but was still a lingering threat.

The real problem was Brittany being busy lately, when Santana _wasn't_ busy. And Santana was almost always doing some kind of work so it really sucked that Brittany was suddenly busy during their last two Friday date nights. They hadn't had a meal together or watched television together, or even met at the gym, in weeks.

Was Brittany getting bored of her? Horton would just fucking love that, wouldn't he?

Like, Brittany gets bored with things real fast. Evidence: her entire chaotic 'what the hell, how do you pull that off' wardrobe. The blonde mixes and matches the oddest outfits (suspenders and neons during her special time of month, some polka dots on the weekends) but still manages to be some kind of trend-setter slash sex goddess at the same time. And completely adorable. And hot. And sweet. And smart. And funny. And pretty.

So, _so_ fucking pretty.

Because of all that prettiness, on this ordinary Sunday that follows a recently sprouted routine (in which Santana hits the grocery store, whips out a cookbook, pops a bottle of wine, and proceeds to make a dinner for her amazing girlfriend in order to get laid), Santana decides to add in some spontaneity.

Okay, so, she's been reading _1001 Ways to Be Romantic: Now Completely Revised and more Romantic Than Ever_ (and she may have the mini pocket version of _Romance for Dummies_).

If she's learnt anything from either of those books it's that

Half the shit in there was clearly mainstreamed for people with absolutely no social skills whatsoever so she should probably drop them anonymously outside her neighbour's door and do the hermit man a favour

And, more importantly,

There was some stuff in there that she found helpful and creative and totally the kind of thing Brittany would eat up

Brittany was a romantic girl at heart. Sure she oozed sex and had the confidence of a fricking Goddess, but after getting to know her more (romance comedies were Britt's favourites) Santana had learnt Brittany liked going on dates and getting flowers.

Her love of flowers was kind of where this whole romantic notion thing came from. Santana bought some for her dinner table on a whim three weeks ago because Brittany always mentioned her apartment was bland and adding some colour would be nice, and growing up her grandmother always put fresh flowers on their table.

Brittany thought the flowers were meant for her, not the table.

When Brittany saw them still wrapped up in the bouquet, she grabbed them, proceeded to sniff the crap out of them, and happily accepted them like they were a million dollars. The reward for Santana's sweet gesture, which according to Brittany's detective skills were bought because Santana was grateful Brittany went down on her for almost an hour last night, was a kiss so intimate and sweet it erased all of Santana's fears of being boring.

And another hour of downtime.

Hell, if flowers made Brittany that happy then Santana was eagerly waiting to see what this romantic set up would do. She had set the small dinner table up a bit more extravagantly than usual (candlesticks, new dishes, a red rose in a vase), made preparations for a swanky three-course meal, made a playlist on her iTunes with some sexy fuck-friendly beats, and made sure to keep her hands off of her case-files for the evening so Brittany had her full attention.

Okay so, she spent her whole Sunday morning cramming in some paperwork instead of hitting the gym to get her workaholic out of her system.

Now, all she had to do was shower, get dolled up in her sexy dress, do some curling of her hair, and cook the marinated chicken she kept overnight for Brittany who would be coming by in three hours time for what she thought was the usual casual dinner, maybe movie, cuddling, and sexy-times.

Instead Brittany was going to be swept off her feet by Santana's spontaneous romantic night of love.

Two hours later, she was way too immersed in belting out Adele's _Rumour Has It_ while standing in front of her full body mirror to make sure she looked hot, to notice that Brittany was an hour early. Her singing covered the sound of the apartment door and jingling of Brittany's keys in the lock.

And, since Brittany was never early for things, Santana had assumed she had a full three-hour window to be prepared.

So she was totally unprepared to walk out of her room and find not only Brittany finding out the surprise beforehand, but Brittany's sister Gracie and worst of all - Brittany's parents too. With suitcases.

Awkward fucking moment.

It was extra shitty that her sexy singing voice was cut off right at her favourite line due to the shock, "Bless your soul, you got your head in the clouds, you made a fool out of me, and- Brittany!"

"Hey, Santana," Brittany's eyes are drinking Santana in with a 'wow' smile, (thankfully she already had her dress on even though ten minutes ago she had skedaddled from the kitchen in only her lingerie to heat the oven).

Her boss is in her fucking apartment. Just standing there. And suitcases?

"Uh… you're here early?"

She checks the slim wristwatch on the wrist of her right hand and notes that, yes, Brittany is pretty much an hour early. And didn't call. And brought her sister and her parents. And one of those parents is Horton, the boss with the super powers known as The Glare of Stop Dating My Daughter and The Silent Treatment So You Better Talk to Michael if You Need Anything.

Santana's inner monologue is partial "fuck my life" and "what the hell is going on this is so random and makes no sense."

Thankfully, Brittany explains by walking up close and lushly whispering, "Sannie Bear."

Or not really. But the use of 'Sannie Bear' is enough of a clue in and of itself that Brittany needs Santana's cooperation. Like that time she wanted to finger Santana while Santana drove and Santana knew it was a bad idea and she'd probably not be able to drive but if Brittany wants to finger you while you're driving then she'll say 'Sannie Bear' and finger you while you're driving.

"The house is being investigated for a robbery and my place is way too tiny for the three of them so I thought this way they'd get to know you and could stay here. They only need to stay for the night, tomorrow I'll pay my credit card off and use it for a hotel." Brittany whispers easily with a grateful peck to Santana's cheek. Then she's snuggling onto one of the rustic leather couches and patting next to her to urge her family to sit.

Gracie jumps next to Britt and gives Santana a bright smile, and even Susan – that is Mrs. Peirce's cliché appropriate housewife name, Santana has learnt- takes a timid seat. She looks around the apartment and says, "I love what you've done with the place."

Santana and Horton remain standing (and standstill with their latest glare round). "What was stolen?" She decides to ask.

Horton breaks eye contact and glances around the room. His lips purse when they land on the dining table that has been set up romantically and then he says, "wallets. Cars. Televisions. Computers."

"They even took our bed sheets and mattresses," Gracie grumbles. "But not the ugly rug Mom bought, no, they just had to leave that."

Susan taps Gracie's thigh with a reproachful stare and then turns to Santana, "If you'd rather we leave-"

"No, no," Santana cuts off Susan (Brittany is giving her a very, very pointed stare), "please, stay. Um… I'm sure there's enough dinner for all of us. If you're hungry."

'Is this real life?' Santana wonders, 'is this really happening to her of all people?'

/

The food is in the oven, and Santana is staring hard at Brittany while the blonde finds a few odd dishes for everyone to use.

"You made just enough," Brittany is saying casually, now opening a drawer for the remaining forks and knives. "Nice coincidence. Smells delicious, I'm excited! God, I'm so hungry. The studio was super busy, I had like, four crackers for lunch because someone ate my sandwich."

Santana has exactly four sets of dishes. Two old and two new. She has four wine glasses, eight normal ones, and four sets of cutlery.

She is not prepared for this shit.

"Where the hell are they going to sleep?" She kind of hisses. "And, seriously? Horton can book a hotel room through our firm. We've done it before. Company can foot the bill with the company credit card!"

"But he'd need ID and the credit card, and that was stolen, San." Brittany crosses her arms and turns around. She glances over the kitchen island and sees her parents talking to each other quietly before turning back to Santana.

"What about Evans?" Santana says. "I'm sure your parents have a lot of friends willing to spring them some room, Britt. I'm sure they wouldn't even mind if I paid for their room and they pay me back later. They could even-"

"It was my idea."

Santana feels the words in her throat die out. She had a feeling it was Brittany's idea, she just wanted Brittany to rethink the whole thing.

"It was my idea because I want you to get along with them. I convinced them to give you a chance and you know what? This is your chance. This is what family does for each other, Santana. They help each other out. Maybe if you got to know Dad outside of work and he got to know you, even for the ten minutes that he's sleeping on your couch because his home was robbed? Maybe that will stop this ridiculous fight you two are having! Mom says work stresses him more now, and I practically see you every day so I know the situation is stressing you out too."

Santana sighs and shakes her head, deciding to blame the stress on, "Sylvester is still dragging out a counter-suit, Britt-"

"Listen to me," Brittany steps up to her and cups her cheeks, forcing eye contact and maturity. "They know that I'm serious about you now – it's _not_ a phase. They knew it was as likely for me to fall in love with a woman as it was a man, they're just trying to accept it now that it's happened. You… can you please do this for me? Please? I just want them to see you the way I see you, how happy you make me. Prove that we're like… just as normal a couple as if you were a guy."

With an eye roll because she was seconds away from crying and needed to stop those tears (and could you blame her? Because a fucking gorgeous blonde loved her so much she wanted her to become her family), Santana nodded.

"Okay," Brittany placed a gentle kiss on her lips. "Thank you. I love you aaaaand… I can't believe you were going to be so romantic tonight. You're the sweetest, this dinner you thought of and dressing up for me… I love it."

"Yeah well," Santana looked away and mumbled shyly, "you're worth it."

Her lips are taken in a much more aggressive, promising kiss and Brittany breaks it off with a happy, quiet laugh. "I should mention that I saw your romance books hidden under your pillow. Worst hiding spot ever, by the way."

"Wait, so… you're not surprised?" Santana is a little disappointed. She put a lot of hard work into this night.

"No, I'm totally surprised. I thought you were going to do something for our one year anniversary."

"We's be going to BreadstiX that night, baby. Very special."

Brittany sighs and gathers the dishes from the counter. "Let's win my parents over, and it'll help if you don't mention how your love for BreadstiX is greater than your love for me."

Santana rolls her neck and shoulders as if preparing for a fight. It was time to face Horton head on.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Dear readers, I got stage-fright from all the positive feedback, i hope this chapter keeps you interested. It was hard to write! Phew.

But, please Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.

_**That Awkward Moment When**_

Even with Brittany's whole inspirational _Barney and Friends_-esque "_I love you/You love me/We're a happy family/With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you/Won't you say you love me too"_ summary speech in the kitchen ten minutes ago of her parents finally realizing dating a woman was not just some hot, torrid affair of their daughter's but actually a hot, torrid affair of epic love and hope for eventual lady-babies, Santana felt odd sitting in her own home with people who were practically strangers as they ate the food she had spent _so long_ cooking and preparing.

Like, it was the scenic route kind of long. She purchased more than usual chicken in case it was burnt or Brittany managed to find some and feed it to her fat-ass cat (that totally happened before), picked a recipe with a lot of feedback and credibility from the internet (user IGOTLAID wrote that they got laid because the flavour was just that mouth-watering), and set up everything according to the romantic advice of commercial books (sensuality was key when creating the right atmosphere).

It was effort. So much fucking effort and for what? Not for Brittany to give her the best night of her life and reaffirm their relationship status, no, no that. For Horton Glares A Who to sit on the couch she and Brittany reserved for that act of Holy Cuddling and stuff his face with all that effort, that's what.

What a waste of scented candles. What a waste of matches used to light those scented candles. Oh, yeah, and what a waste of dressing up and looking insanely hot and beyond insanely fuckable under the sensual light of those scented candles.

Fuck. She even practiced the romantic moves she was going to make 'I love you' sex with. (It was great stuff: tuck Brittany's hair behind her ear and whisper how amazing and beautiful she was and that Santana wanted them to stay together even though Brittany had a fat, evil cat that had a tradition of pissing on her favourite expensive shit.)

"This. Is. Delicious." Gracie hummed loudly around a mouthful of moist, roasted to perfection chicken and was now eyeing the one on Santana's plate like she wanted to have its babies.

Santana had seen the younger Pierce when she wanted something, be it humping guys on a dance floor or eye-raping the Third year associate Jake Puckerman as he performed the 'Bend and Snap!' from dropping a blue pen. And those were some creepy perverted looks for the reserved looking young woman that wore cute little cardigans to work and fluttered her blonde lashes innocently at interns for coffee.

This, however, was a whole new kind of desire and it almost ruined Santana's appetite. When Brittany said Gracie was 'cool' she failed to mention 'fanatical, sexually liable, chicken devourer' or even a simple 'crazy.'

How the hell were they all related?

Susan was like Hilary Clinton but super scrawny, Horton was… well he was sexist/boring/occasional racist Horton, Gracie was cray cray, and Brittany was perfect and sane. The Pierces were an odd bunch that ever did bunch. There would be no hint of relation if it weren't for the two blonde daughters who hit maximum on the scale of hotness and had similar eyes and hair.

When Gracie licked her lips and sucked the last drop off her fork, Santana lifted her chin and decided she might as well start eating her food too. Everyone else was eating (or Gracie-inhaling) her beautiful food so she might as well enjoy _something_ tonight.

Also, it would probably be best if she stuffed food in her mouth to stop herself from being brutally honest and insulting her girlfriend's family with words instead of her mind because she was still mad at how this night was turning out. Mad that the GOLD Victoria's Secret set she had on her body would not get the standing ovation it deserved anytime soon.

Seriously.

Fuck this Julia Roberts meets Katherine Heigl romantic comedy shit.

She must be frowning because Brittany's eyes bore into her hardly touched food. She puts the fork in her mouth in reaction, realizing a little too late that there was nothing on the fork and her tongue kind of hurts from being poked.

"Yes, Santana, this is… lovely. Thank you. I would love to get this recipe from you later, I really enjoyed it." Uptight Susan gives a non-uptight smile from where she sits next to Horton and Gracie on the couch (Santana has sat on one of the dinner chairs).

The motherly tone and kind eyes that were directed at her from Brittany's mom cause her to freeze her chewing (of air) and stretch her eyelids. A total fucking deer-in-high-beam-headlights. That's her right now. Staring at Brittany's mom because the woman is being civil and nice, and not knowing what to say because apparently she's socially inept outside of work.

And now everyone else is staring at her because she's lost the ability to speak and breathe.

Shit.

She likes attention (she's always gotten attention and caught eyes, usually because of her toned ass) but this was… this was… this was from Brittany's family, the only people other than Brittany to have ever sat in her home and eaten her food.

And they were being weird, just like she knew they would be.

Except for Gracie. Gracie, Santana had understood quickly, was always weird.

"Uh…"

Brittany who is across from her and sitting on the floor of the apartment's living area (because there is another chair that can be used but Brittany would rather sit on the floor so she was at height with the coffee table and face her awkwardly situated girlfriend who was still hoping none of this was real), pops a grape tomato in her mouth and chews it with that innocent blink. An innocent blink that is cute and all, but not the answer or needed support Santana was hoping would be given.

"G-glad you like it, Mrs. Pierce," Santana remembers how to talk and then goes back to her dinner. This time she manages to eat the food and mentally complement her awesome cooking (because something deserves that standing ovation).

The awkward clattering of dishes and chewing continues. Gracie and Brittany share a whisper and a giggle, which makes Santana frown. How could they be so normal in this position?

She glances up quickly just in time to see Horton's head snap to his right, away from her.

Seriously? The guy pointedly ignores her at work since he found out she's nakedly involved with his oldest daughter but is perfectly fine with sitting in her house, contently eating her food and staring at her?

Asshole.

When she's finished, she coughs gently and decides to try and speak. To everyone. Civilly and nicely, like Brittany would.

"Hope that was enough food…" since it was meant for two and stretched between _five_. If it wasn't enough, she'd have to phone up some delivery or something but it should be enough because it mimics the advertised suggested portions and serving sizes form her monthly issues of _Health Weekly _so why did she even bother asking that question? They should know it was enough food.

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices Brittany finish her wine with an impressive swallow.

(And if Brittany thinks she got away with chugging a glass secretly in the kitchen, she was wrong. Santana totally saw that and is kind of questioning Brittany's bravado).

"It was a perfectly balanced meal, I think it's impressive that you can cook… Gracie and Brittany don't." Mrs. Pierce says breezily, with another smooth compliment. It sounds uptight again but approving at the same time to Santana and makes both of the daughters groan. Susan smiles and adds, "We didn't come empty-handed, of course. I brought some cherry pie."

Santana perks up (though not as noticeably as the other three Pierces who almost jump and cheer or, in Gracie's case, practically froth at the mouth) because pie is freaking delicious (especially cherry), and it sounds perfect.

Only no, she doesn't do pie. She doesn't do sweet things unless it's the occasional monthly craving of whipped aerosol cream and even that is used accordingly during sex so that she's working a sweat while ingesting it.

So yeah. No cherry pie made it in her life schedule, unless 'cherry pie' was a euphuism for vag—

"I love cherry pie!" Gracie can't contain her love and blurts it out.

Santana makes a face because now not only do having guests in her home disturb her evening, they disturb her secret pleasure of conversing with herself too.

"Manners, Gracie," Susan intones with an even balance of stern reproach and gentle amusement because she knows her pie is enough to make Gracie lose it. "Would you like some now or should we wait a bit?"

Okay. Santana didn't go to the gym today so that she could organize her day for some romantic time, and now she's feeling stressed out from her love life's nuclear family invading her safe-place. It's been years, but what if it turns out she's still an emotional eater like that time she ate a carton of ice cream after getting sad and drunk the first time she realized she might be gay? Then she's likely to eat a lot of pie to help with that emotional stress, then the fattening pie will go straight to her hips and explode into fat love handles, and then all of her clothes which are meant to be skin-tight or merely accentuating will need to be replaced with a larger size and her sexiness will be flushed down the toilet and Brittany won't love her anymore and… stuff.

All negative stuff that she refuses to go down, because temptation is a bug to squash. She's Santana Lopez: healthy, sexy, consistent-eating Santana Lopez.

She has enough self-control to say no to pie!

So she does.

"Ugh, no thanks."

That may have come out kind of harsh because Susan's face drops and the silent man of the hour, Horton himself, even says with the same incredulity he usually reserved for the shortcomings of first-year associates that thought they knew everything, "you're saying no to pie?"

Santana glances at his beer belly. It's a knee-jerk reaction to someone commenting on her eats. And seriously? This man should eat no pie. Also, was he being racist? Like, was he assuming she was weird to say no to pie because she was that poor Hispanic girl who was so culturally deprived she didn't know the wonders of pie and only ate tacos and salsa?

Maybe she's overreacting to him but this _was_ the guy she overheard telling Michael Evans about two Mexicans walking into a bar… and the bartender said you're hired. He laughed after telling that joke, like he was breathing in laughing gas kind of laughter.

And now she remembers why she hates this guy. Just great. Why did Brittany have to be his daughter, of all people?

"You don't like cherries?" Gracie decided to ask, curiously, licking her fork of salad dressing as Brittany took frequent, long sips of her winerefill . "Because mom's pie is the best pie you'll ever eat, Santana. It's sooo good."

Santana looks down at the table and the empty dishes. The obvious course of action was there: Clear the dishes, go to bed, forget this ever happened, and dream a dream to be free of this 'Les Mis'-ery.

"Oh come on Santana," Brittany finally intervenes to save her after finishing off her drink, already reaching around the coffee table and gathering the dishes now that her fourth helping of wine is pumping through her supple body. She's even separating knives and forks so Santana can't get involved (she hates it when plates are piled with things in-between).

Wait. Hold up. Brittany's not supposed to do that. Santana was going to do that. That was her escape plan.

Gracie smiles at her and thanks her again for dinner as she helps her sister collect dishes and now Santana can't even help because there's nothing left to carry.

Brittany wanted her to be nice and she was nice, so maybe she could just book a hotel room for her and Brittany tonight. The pull-out couch and bedroom aren't exactly enough sleeping spots, right? There's a fifth one out. She could even just go to the office tonight and sleep there. Or pay Becky to let her sleep at Becky's place. Or go stay at Brittany's with her goth roommate Tina in those god-awful pink sheets of Brittany's.

"I better not," Santana explains to Brittany because speaking to her is easy and she'll understand without nagging. Maybe. She did practically force a spoon of sundae down Santana's throat with a promise of it making their kisses taste better. "I'm full."

God, Santana thinks suddenly, what was going to happen in the morning with so many people in the house? There was only one shower even though she had two bathrooms and that meant Horton would be in there.

Ew.

Brittany stands up with the dishes and gives an indiscreet eye-roll to her sister while Santana panics over the sudden thought of Horton using her shower. "One slice of pie won't kill you, Santana. You didn't even freak out this much over that fudge sundae we had last week… and you only had a tiny spoon of it."

Is Brittany trying to embarrass her? Because that's what she's feeling. Embarrassed. And offended. Hello? Not everyone can have the metabolism of a teenager like Brittany does and spend most of her day working out with intensive dance. And get paid for it. Santana sits at a desk, walks only for coffee, and then stands and sits in court once in a while. She depends _entirely_ on her gym and sex routine to keep her body intact (and neither of those things was going to happen today, clearly).

"Are you allergic?" Gracie asks curiously, stretching her arms and yawning.

Santana reluctantly reveals she's not, "I didn't go to the gym today, and I don't want to overeat."

She's not trying to be rude, she's learned three things when it's come to her life policy of maintain a hot body:

First, chocolate is like a drug and once you start you can't fucking stop so just don't start.

Second, don't ever let a gorgeous woman called Arianna try and convince you to let her eat a sandwich off your stellar abs (because that's a big ass red light and only ends in her crying when you tell her as much).

And last of all, remember the body is a machine and to keep it in working condition there is no giving in to pie. Even if your amazing girlfriend's mom made it to thank you.

"That won't do darling," Susan stood up and gathered the leftover glasses to follow her daughter into the kitchen. "Dessert is a Pierce family tradition."

Yes, Santana thinks, desert is a Pierce family tradition but this is her fucking apartment and the Lopez tradition is 'Say No to Drugs and Dessert and Sex With Any Woman Who has a Double-D-Cup' (because it was embarrassing how small her hands were against them melons that one time).

She was not going to sit in her own home and be judged because she has no time for pie! There was nothing wrong with not having pie if she didn't want the pie.

"If she doesn't want pie don't force her," Horton says, her unwanted saviour, while patting his beer belly, probably hoping she'll say no just so he can eat it all (in Santana's spiteful opinion, of course).

"Susan's pie is delicious though," he says to her with a softer voice once the Pierce women had left to manhandle Santana's catalogue-kitchen, "you'll be missing out."

Well, now, Horton clearly finished most of that wine himself because he was speaking to her like a normal person. Actually, it was more surprising that he was speaking to her in general when these days he didn't even look her way in the staff meetings for a second.

Should she speak back? Eeni, Meeni, Miny-Mo, Drink More Wine Or Talk To Ho?… yeah. Drink it up.

The phone rings and Santana shoots to her feet.

/

It turns out it was Tina who phoned to get buzzed up to the apartment, dropping by some extra bed sheets and an air mattress. Damn Brittany for thinking of everything. Tina even brought some spare towels.

And now Tina, Gracie, and Brittany were eating pie with some coffee and giggling and totally blasé with this whole situation while Santana alphabetized her case files and pretended she was working. She was such a dumb bitch to finish all of the work that she had at home and leave some at the firm.

"I'm just gonna go and buy them some toothbrushes and stuff," Brittany says, appearing in the doorway of her bedroom. "I should be back in half an hour, kay?"

Santana looks up from her laptop and cross-legged position on her bed, and hesitates before saying, "well… I… I can get some from Niko's store down the block?"

This was her chance! Get out of the house, sneak a cigar to smoke the stress off. Ohh, and she could take a detour to the firm and grab some work!

Brittany stares at her for a long moment and then looks behind her to make sure no one was eavesdropping before lowering her voice and saying, "is this too much? You're hiding out in here and making them feel unwelcome."

They feel unwelcome? Bitches, please. Santana is the one hiding out on her bed in her own home while Horty-warty drinks her coffee.

"Well I'm trying, Britt," she almost snaps but doesn't. She can't treat Brittany like just anyone, Brittany was special and sweet and deserved some honesty. "But this is weird and I'm not a people person, you know that."

"Not really, Santana, I don't know that. I guess it makes sense… when we hang out it's only ever really _us_ and no one else, or even that one time we hung out with my friends all you did was order a drink and nod if you weren't staring at your phone and then you got hit on by people who thought you looked bored and wanted to 'save' you from us – from _me!_ I'm sorry that you hate people and that I put you in a situation with people… but you have to understand that I have family and friends and when you have that you can't shut them out. They're being nice and amazing about this and you've turned down mom's pie and glared at dad's breathing! And I know you, you're probably saying mean things in your head before even giving them a chance."

Yeah. Ouch. Santana has no family and no friends, not really. You can't count a grandmother who literally waved her hand at your shoes and said she never wanted to see you again _and_ repeatedly hung up the phone or turned off the porch lights on you.

The pain must show in her eyes because Brittany guiltily looks away and sucks in a quick breath, "you know what… it's my fault. I thought you were ready for this… I… we can leave and… stay at mine I guess-"

"No." Santana cuts her off. Brittany, of course, was right. "No. I guess… I can try harder for you. How about you give me a list of things and I'll go to Niko's and when I come back I'll be nice. I promise, I'll try harder."

Brittany closes her eyes and looks like she's in pain.

"What? Britt, what's wrong?" Santana is now panicking.

She's been very careful to not make mistakes in this relationship, she's adapting to it because she's latched onto Brittany by an indescribable connection and the thought of living without it is terrifying.

Brittany is her friend and family, she's all Santana truly has now outside of nice clothes and rich clients and… shit. She needs to get out of her room and go buy some fucking toothbrushes. She needs to be putting more effort into this Pierce family tradition crap because apparently they are the ones extending the olive branch and she just snapped it in half.

One bite of pie. She'll have one fucking bite of the fucking pie!.. On second thought, it will have to happen another time. She's been having more wine here in her room and that's a few hundred extra calories already. Tomorrow she'll have some left over pie and do an extra hour on the elliptical.

"I'm sorry," she shuts her laptop and gets up, "I'll stop thinking about myself. Uh… what should we do for breakfast in the morning?"

Brittany smiles at her, still looking in pain but now its easy to tell she's actually just trying not to cry out of happiness. "We'll talk later," she says.

"Talk? About what?" Santana changes out of her dress into something more convenience –store friendly, flipping hangers in her walk-in closet since Brittany's being strange.

"About how amazing you are," Brittany hugs her from behind and plants a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek before skipping away. And copping a feel of her midriff.

Santana knows she's amazing, but hearing the woman she's in love with say it twice in the same night… is the best kind of reward.

And she really needs to stop being such a self-centered bitch and all, but she it can wait a few minutes. She grabs a cigar and some matches from her dresser and thanks the Lord for giving her a brief escape.

/

"This place is awesome," Tina falls backward on the bed and shoots Brittany a teasing grin. "So that's why you love spending the night, huh? This bed is like sleeping on a cloud."

"I know right?" Brittany jumps beside Tina with her knees and giggles while bouncing the mattress, "and it's got strong supports. Getting the headboard to bang is really hard, but we've done it a few times."

"Gross, Britt," Gracie groans at her older sister's words. "Awww you're so cute in this photo. Was this on a date?'

Brittany nods and stands up againto see what her sister is looking at, her eyes catching the picture Santana kept of her by her bedside. It was of her one of their dates, just sitting across from Santana and laughing. It was the only photo Santana had in the house in an actual frame.

"Oh my goooood I am in love with this closet," Gracie squeals a minute later and reappears out of the closet with an armful of hangers and dresses. "Do you think Santana will let me borrow her stuff? She always dresses so nice at work, definitely the best dressed. And she still manages to show up early, how long does it take her to get ready and look that good?"

"Gracie put her stuff back," Brittany scolds her sister, though amused at hearing once again how awesome Gracie thinks Santana's image is. "Just ask her that stuff yourself. I'm usually sleeping when she leaves in the morning so I dunno… but she always looks good."

"I love her hair," Gracie says while putting the nice clothes back, "and her shoes. Wow. So many shoes! But a size too small. Fuck."

"I love the apartment," Tina sighs. "You and I need to rake in more money Britt, and get a nicer place. Our place sucks ompared to this."

"It is a lovely place," Susan hesitates near the doorway of the bedroom, voicing her entrance. "Can I join you young ladies?"

"Of course mom," Brittany rolls her eyes. Since when had her mother every needed to ask if she could intrude on her and her sister? "What's dad doing, watching TV?"

"No, he went outside to walk off dinner. I think he wanted to check on the firm and phone the police."

"He could have phoned in here, though…"

"He wanted to sneak in a smoke," Susan sighed at her husband's habit. "He took your cell, Brittany."

"I can't believe our house was robbed," Gracie sits on the edge of the bed and says with a bit of uneasiness.

"Tomorrow we'll be going to the bank to get our credit cards reissued… at least those have been cancelled."

The girls all hummed and sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Well, I think I'm going to get ready for bed and maybe watch some television until Santana gets back… Goodnight girls, and nice seeing you again Tina. Thank you so much for helping out," an exhausted Susan hugged all three and left to go to nap on the pullout couch until her husband got back.

Once she was gone, Brittany collapsed back on the bed with wide eyes.

"No! He took my cell?" Brittany finally snapped out of her brief stunned moment and worried her bottom lip, "he better not read my text messages."

"Ohhhh, why?" Gracie smirked evilly at her sister and wiggled her eyebrows with as much suggestiveness as she could muster. "You and Santana exchanging naughty words?"

"Not exactly. The last text I sent her said 'did you get my voicemails, I'm bringing mom, dad and Gracie over because they were robbed'… but she was super surprised when we got here so she obviously didn't check 'em," Brittany said after a moment. "Oh thank god this happened today. Any other day and dad would read about-"

"How much you want Santana to come over to the studio during her lunch break and have a quickie in the supply closet there because you're craving her fast and rough?" Gracie giggled, her cheeks turning a bright red as Tina gasped like it was some kind of scandal while Brittany could care less and shrugged (but still blushed, recalling that Santana did make it over during her lunch break).

"Are you psychic?" Brittany leans up on her elbows wondering how Gracie knew about that last week impromptu booty call, and raises an eyebrow when she realizes Santana had left her phone in the room which was rare because usually she took it with her everywhere to be connected with work. Then again, she didn't pick up once out of the seven times Brittany tried to call her before bringing her family over.

How convenient. Santana would forget her phone the one time nosy Gracie found it and the one day it would have been more useful.

"Quickies during work?" Tina leans her cheek on her palm and giggles while extending her other hand out for a high-five. "Go Britt!"

Brittany, smug and in love, returned it.

"Armpits Britt, really?" Gracie sniggers again, scrolling through the phone some more, "oooh and racy thong photos. You little slut, you're shameless!"

"Look who's talking," Brittany mumbles right before a pillow is slammed down on her face from an offended Gracie.

"You know what they call Santana at work?" Gracie bates Brittany.

"What?" Brittany gives in, hoping to get more insight on the work life of her girlfriend without the implied office politics that Santana groaned about.

(Brittany felt torn between telling her father these things so he would fix it but holding back because Santana would not appreciate that kind of help. She didn't really have to worry too much though, because ever since Gracie started working there her father was more cautious with making sure no one gave his daughter a hard time unless it was necessary.)

"Nothing. They just avoid eye contact with her ever since some guy tried to ask her out and quit the next day form being bitched out."

"Serves him right," Brittany said, not at all impressed with Gracie's attempts of gossiping about how Santana was at work.

"Britty, I'm serious here. She like, never talks to me ever and she should be trying to get on my good side when she's dating my sister, you know?"

"She's pretty hardcore when it comes to her work, Gracie-pie. One time I caught her reciting an opening for court but she was like singing it in the shower. Her loofah was the jury."

"Wait, do you dislike her now?" Tina asked, "because ten seconds ago you were praising her and her style."

"What Tina said," Brittany frowned at her sister.

"I was praising her until a text from a woman called Isabelle showed up saying 'I need you now,' because that sounds like a booty call. She's cheating on you. With needy Isabelle."

"Shut up, Gracie. Santana is not cheating on me. I wear her out so she'd never even have the energy to cheat on me."

"TMI," Tina says, though really Brittany thinks she's jealous at her lack of a sex life.

"Shut up! Isabelle is calling!" Gracie tries to 'shh' them.

Brittany sits up, reaching over to try and snatch the phone form Gracie and putting an end to the invasion of her girlfriend's treasured privacy.

Gracie, however, jumped back and wagged the phone out of her reach. "Come on, Isabelle left a messaaaaage. Let's hear it."

"Gracie, go to bed! I can't believe mom let you drink coffee. You can't be messing with Santana's phone like that, she's got a bunch of lawyer stuff on it and she will be pissed if you mess it up. How would you feel if someone went through your phone?"

"You go through my phone all the time!"

"We're sisters, we've always shared things like that. I'm trying to make sure Santana gets along with you and mom and dad, but when you do stuff like this-"

Gracie put the speakerphone on and listened to the voicemail, evilly grinning an "oops."

"_Santana. I'm staying at the Hilton on fiftieth, room 601. He's hasn't got a clue, he thinks I'm in Hawaii."_

The message stopped and Tina said, "okay Britt, that did sound pretty insinuating."

"Yeah, totally… except that Isabelle wants a divorce from her husband and doesn't want him getting a cent of her ballet foundation. She's a client."

"Oh. It's Isabelle Wright… wow." Gracie looked awkwardly at her feet. "My bad."

/

"What's your name anyways?" Santana asks her doorman as she lights her cigar outside. She had cut it in half and given him the other half. She wishes she had time to smoke it all but she doesn't and she's on a mission to buy toothbrushes. She probably shouldn't have had the extra wine.

Man, the Pierces' house was cleaned the fuck out. This was beyond a simple theft. Who stole someone's used toothbrushes and ironing board but left the iron and toothpaste behind?

It feels great to be out of the apartment though, and Brittany would understand idle chat with strangers being a time hindrance better than anyone since Brittany has idle chat with strangers all the fucking time.

Most recently was that super creepy fat guy selling homemade candles. Santana literally stood there and witnessed Brittany and fat candle guy debate the physics of a melting candle. Then, just when she thought the conversation might be done, they talked about ear candling.

The doorman blinks and removes his cap, handing back the lighter she lent him before taking a long, long, long ass inhale of smoke and letting it out with a relieved sigh.

Santana raises her eyebrows because if anyone needs to smoke cigars like that, they might possibly be druggies. She would know, too. She's met her fair share of druggies during college.

"Musician," he tells her because he can tell she's going to comment on the lung capacity thing. "I can sing like an angel and my diaphragm is impressive. Not a druggie."

"Lawyer." She tells him, "Can't believe you… even though it's a reasonable explanation. Us lawyers can't believe anything."

He grins, so quickly it's like a flash, and then takes another crazy long inhale. And he can do those smoke rings. It's so cool she's in awe for a moment. She's not some great smoker, she does a cigar now and then for no reason other than the fact that her anger management therapist number three smoked them and suggested she try one as a form of mediation.

It was kind of chilly out at night on the front stoop of her swanky apartment building. It would be nice to be inside her cozy, swanky apartment building with an indoor heating system and blonde bombshell of a girlfriend that she could cuddle as much as she wanted but this was life and life threw hurdles every now and then.

When they started dating and Brittany would cuddle, Santana asked her (just to make sure, duh, Santana was so not needy or anything) that Brittany liked cuddling. Brittany told her cuddling was awesome and Santana could do it whenever she wanted (to Brittany _and_ Lord Tubbington) so Santana usually found enough time in her week to max out that credit. On Brittany, not the fat pissing cat.

Cuddling with parents around was weird though, so smoking with the doorman was clearly the better option. Five more minutes and then she'd go buy whatever it was the Pierces needed to feel comfortable.

"Your name," Santana reminds him, tucking her hands under her knees and deciding to sit for this conversation. She's in some jeans now, expensive but old enough to sit on a public stone step in.

"You gave me a keychain that says it for my birthday, didn't you?" The doorman says to her like she did just that.

Santana gives him her best 'WTF' look and then even tells him, "what the fu—no!"

"Brittany did," he frowns, "guess _she_ knows my name then."

"I gave you a hundred dollar bottle of scotch for Christmas."

"That's right…" he perked up and fixed the wire-rimmed glasses on his nose "Name's Brad."

"Brad. Huh. I was expecting something really lame like… Ronald."

"You probably got that Scotch as a gift, huh? You don't look like someone who drinks Scotch."

"Whatever the fuck that means," Santana rolls her eyes, aware that she's five glasses of wine in or so. "And yes it was a gift. I don't drink it… much. I got that from a crazy client of mine who was grateful I did the paperwork for her car. Seriously. She asked me to read over the car agreement she has… from inheriting a fucking BMW to see if she had to pay its speeding ticket. Because that's what I did Brad. Instead of telling her she was a fucking dumbass and didn't need to pay me and obviously had to pay her speeding ticket I told her the paperwork was clean and charged that ten minutes as a billable hour of two hundred. And this woman gives me a Christmas present for that? What a… a…"

"Idiot."

"Right. Idiot."

"Look, Mexican… or Domincan… Hispanic… maybe Latina?"

"Shut the fuck up. It's Lopez. Imma slap you if you call me anything else and then get you fired."

"I'm messing with you, Santana. I know your name because Brittany always talks about how cute you are when you fall asleep doing work in your pajamas-"

"I fall asleep _when_ the work is _done_, amigo. Get your facts straight." And she was not cute, She was hot, super hot.

Brad shrugged and took another deep breath of the cigar.

"Kay. But, my point is… why are you sitting out here with me, after you've clearly been drinking wine from the bottle all day-"

"How do you know it was wine?"

"—and not upstairs with your, face it, incredible girlfriend? I thought you were this cool, put together lawyer who was always doing something with her phone and making her assistant bring by her dry cleaning to leave at the front with Darrell… not a whining loser."

Santana mumbled and puffed on the cigar in her mouth.

"Because, not sure if you noticed from your position here standing at the door, Doorman Brad, but Brittany brought her parents over for an impromptu visit after they were thoroughly robbed of almost everything they possess and now they're spending the night so I'm supposed to be on my way to Niko's to buy them some…"

She ruffles her pocket for the paper list in Brittany's cute bubbly writing and when she finds it she reads out loud, "Kraft Dinner in the cup for Gracie's Monday lunch, a huge bag of Cheeto's but not the crunchy ones the soft puffy ones, three toothbrushes, Sensodyne toothpaste, de… deodorant? What the fuck? What is this shit? A nail file?"

"How much wine have you had to drink?" Brad asks.

"I'm not drunk, you asshole."

She feels the amount of items on the list overwhelm her and her tear ducts start acting up. She was not going to cry drunk-wolf now, dammit.

"Brittany told me she thinks smoking is a disgusting habit." He just doesn't shut up.

"What are you implying, Brad?" Santana narrows her eyes at him.

He shrugs, "thanks for the cigar and that Christmas scotch by the way."

She rolls her eyes, just as someone coughs. They both turn around and realize Horton is there and probably has been for quite some time now.

He's got a cigarette between his lips and he looks rapidly between Santana, Brad, and the sidewalk before clearing his throat.

"Santana."

She gives him a nod and then quickly disposes of the last of her half-cigar in the sand ashtray over the outdoor garbage bin.

"Uh…" he looks at Brad again and then removes the cigarette from his lips and straightens his posture. "I thought you had left already..."

"Just on my way," she tells him, her hand swinging in the direction with the sudden urger to run away. "I'll just… yeah… see ya."

"I'll join you," he takes a few steps and starts walking with her, "some fresh air."

And she's walking the city streets with her boss to buy random shit after he overheard her probably insult him or something. Just great.

/

The five minute walk to Niko's is relatively peaceful. Horton doesn't slow her strides down and just walks without any talking as he smokes his cigarette which she appreciates.

Except that it's awkward, but what isn't awkward these days? Nothing. Not in Santana's life, anyways.

The problem is that when they get to Niko's…

It's closed.

"Seriously?" she groans, pulling out her phone so she can GPS-search some kind of pharmacy. Only to realize she forgot her phone. Shit.

"There's a Walgreens, twenty-four hours across the firm," Horton says, also sounding irritated with this walk for nothing.

Santana sighs and nods, glowering one last time at the hand-written "sorry, will be closed for the weekend of blah blah blah" note Niko's owner had pinned to the glass door.

Santana flings her arms out and a cab screeches next to her instantly. Its one of her superpowers, courtesy of her hotness.

Horton opens the door, but the cabbie is already telling him off.

"Woah, hey no way man. I stopped for this pretty lady ya feel me? She hailed the cab, not you."

"We're sharing," Santana rolls her eyes but is nice enough to the cab driver considering Horton's shocked face is amusing.

She's nice to people that fall in love with her quickly like this gross cab driver… Except for most of them. Okay, usually she isn't nice at all and actually her voice wasn't meant to sound so icy but the cabbie's face just fell fifty degrees. Story of her life.

"Oh, I see, m-my bad lady. Where are you two heading tonight?"

"Jefferson and Ralph," Horton says right as Santana says "Ralph and Jefferson."

They stare at each other and then buckle in their seatbelts.

Santana wonders if its weird that they're both sitting in the back… maybe she should have sat in the front?

"I saiiiid, giiiirl," the cabbie drives and starts singing, which makes her grateful she sat in the back especially when he winks at her through the rearview mirror.

She grips the can of pepper spray she keeps in her pocket. The city was labeled one of the safest in America with low homicide and violence rates but she was a walking hazard with all of her hotness so she wasn't going to take any chances on getting assaulted.

The disgusted look on her face is caught by Horton, who raises an eyebrow. She's ot sure, but she thinks he's trying to tell her 'can you believe this guy?'

She crosses her legs and says, "since we're going near the firm…"

"Yes," Horton scratches his chin and eagerly agrees. "I can pick up the extra stuff I leave there."

"Extra stuff?"

"I've got my own private bathroom in there. Actually, I might as well shower and change and grab some work too. Don't' want to uh… intrude too much in your home. I've got everything I need for the night there."

Santana thinks for the first time since meeting him that maybe he's not so bad if he's thoughtful enough to not use her shower.

And then she realizes he might be embarrassed by this whole situation too and something in her icy heart melts (she was kicked out of her home with no money, she's knows very well just how embarrassing that feeling is).

"Well, we can always buy whatever you need for a few days… and you can pay me back later," she says as nonchalantly as possible, knowing he would respond to the offer if he knows its not free stuff but a loan. And God help her when she goes further and says, "But you should know that my Silver TAG luxury shower is awesome. You should try it out."

Horton clears his throat again and quietly says, "right. That does sound pretty cool. Thank you."

Not only did he say 'pretty cool' and sound pretty normal, but they both seemed to drop the tension in their shoulders because of that little understanding of showers and money embarrassment, and even the cab driver must have noticed something life-changing happened because his singing just kind of failed.

/

"And they threw eggs at our cars," Horton is telling her as they drop things into the silver cage basket he's carrying. "The whole house is covered in caution tape and the whole neighbourhood is being questioned."

Santana winces, "wow. And what are the police saying?"

"That they've never seen anything like it."

Santana grabs the Cheeto's Brittany wanted and Horton has the toothbrushes and is picking out the different deodorants he knows Gracie and his wife use. Maybe he's not so bad after all, because for such a "Me Man, You Woman, Grrr" caveman mentality she thought he had, he actually knew the small things about the women in his life.

"Our house was the only one targeted, and we were at church this morning about a fifteen minute walk from home so we spent the day there with friends organizing for our church fundraiser. No one was home when the robbery happened and the thieves cut out the power of the entire neighbourhood block. And I left the house with a hundred dollars to give as a church donation, I don't like to leave the house for church with my phone and wallet. Sunday is a day of relaxation and worship," he explains to her because he clearly feels stupid about his situation and the reason for leaving behind essentials.

"Sounds personal," Santana comments as they approach the till, trying to process what is possibly the longest sentence she ever heard him speak that didn't involve a courtroom close or a sermon of electronic staplers.

Horton nods thoughtfully and moves his hands to his pocket for his wallet before realizing he doesn't have it and sighing under his breath.

Santana hands over her debit card and lets Horton carry the bags of stuff. It didn't look heavy and he practically pounced on them anyways. She understood that he didn't like to feel useless. Brittany was the same, and she could see some of the family resemblance now.

"Oi!" The shopkeeper yells and a stand of candy is knocked over to the ground. Some guy is whipping the door open with excessive force and shouts of a "Thief!" come from the Walgreens associate who tries to chase after him.

"Oooh," Santana winces as the heroic employee slips on the floored candy and crashes painfully face-first against a stand of newspapers.

Horton, however, gives chase and Santana decides why the hell not. She can outrun her boss and she's not weighed down by plastic bags of crap.

She dashes by Horton and watches the hooded figure disappear down an alley. She staggers by some hobos and realizes she might still be a teeny bit drunk but she keeps on running.

The thief is jumping up on a fire-escape ladder in some alley and she latches onto his legs, and he falls over from the lack of balance.

But his foot swings out and smacks her in the face.

/

Brittany frowns when Santana's home phone starts ringing. It rarely rings. The automated caller ID voice says in a weirdly sexy robotic tone, "Call from unknown caller."

Tina had left half an hour ago and Santana and her dad should have been back now but her dad hadn't picked up the phone and Santana forgot hers so she was stuck worrying about both of them, so she picks up the phone and listens to her dad speak on the other side, cringing as he tells her why he's calling from the police station and why he needs her to bring his passport from his suitcase pocket and her credit card.

"What is it honey, was that your father?" Susan rubs her tired eyes, grumpy at having to wait up so long.

"Um… yeah."

"What did Dad say? Is he with Santana?" Gracie asked, having decided to go for another slice of pie.

"Yeah they…" Brittany is really confused but she goes to her Dad's suitcase and grabs his passport. "He and Santana got arrested, and they might need bail."

Brittany wonders if she should have just gotten her family the hotel rooms after all.

/

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Not as much inner-Santana, but here lies some inner-Horton and sex-talk with Brittany! Thanks for your kind reviews and encouraging words. I personally enjoyed learning what you wrote as favourite lines so I hope there are more of those.

please Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.

_**That Awkward Moment When**_

"So you're just concerned citizens who chased some guy – some nonexistent guy - down the alley that happened to have ongoing arrests of Mexican drug dealers? You _really_ expect me to believe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time during a top-secret drug deal when both of you threw punches of your own?" Says Officer Smokes-a-lot, picking out his third cigarette before the second one is even done.

Yeah, right. Like, they _actually_ chased a thief from a drug store and happened to be in that alley of all alleys.

His sarcasm knew no bounds, and it made Horton panic from the lack of evidence. Their groceries weren't there to wave in the cop's faces, and the little shit they chased whacked Santana's nose and hopped up the fire escape.

"Woah, do I look like a drug dealer to you?" Horton practically roared at the man, nervously looking to the other policeman, Officer Mighty Pen who was scribbling down notes across from them at a rapid pace. "I'm a respectable lawyer who just wanted to stop a thief! A thief who hit my friend here, also a respectable lawyer that I work with. She could use some ice."

Santana shifted next to him, her face starting to swell up from the unfortunate foot that had landed on it. There was blood gushing from a cut initially but it had slowed down and now she just sat there, not really joining Horton with his attempts of verbal reasoning.

"Alright, alright," the cop says while stubbing out the end of his cigarette and blowing smoke right in Horton's face before lighting his third, "you can go make your phone call but if Miss Americano over here-" he gestures to Santana who is still sitting beside Horton with a stern glare directed at the two responsible for their arrest instead of speaking up – "wants some ice for that nasty hit then she'll have to play nice. We got questions chica, which only a Mexican drug dealer like you can answer. Or drug dealer's bitch, I suppose. I hope you know that you can still go to jail for being involved with the Lopez's, _Lopez_."

He waves her driver's license with a chuckle and the man scribbling notes snorts. Horton leans back, looking at them in disbelief.

Needless to elaborate, Santana was not having a good night. And her nose was throbbing with pain, possibly broken. She was just glad that the blood didn't totally gush over her black Armani jacket.

Awkward Pierce family reunion in her house aside, she was arrested and accused of dealing drugs because of her skin colour and fucking last name. And, okay, yeah, sure. She would concede that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time but… only a fucking idiot would be so goddamn presumptuous and accuse her of such a massive crime on appearances alone.

Was this for real? Had they not figured out she was in no way whatsoever related to the druggie Lopez's yet?

She tried to ignore them and think of her next course of action but there was only so much dumbassery she could pretend to take before exploding.

"Are you for real?" She crossed her arms and glared even harder at the two men as Horton looked sorry for her, rubbing his forehead and panicking over his lack of personal affects (which made him suspicious as her 'friend'). "You're suspecting me of dealing drugs because of my last name? Okay… buddy, you are going to fucking regret this. Do your job right and let me go and I'll play nice, keep me here under your racist judgment shit and you will be crying in a few hours!"

And she was too exasperated with this bullshit to really rip into him. Just great.

"Like we haven't heard that before," the officer leaned over, trying to intimidate her and billowing more smoke in her direction. "We caught you guys red-handed with half the stash, _Lopez_. Where did Nico take the rest? Cooperate and we'll tell the judge to make a sentence easy for ya. Don't want a pretty thing like you in jail too long with all those dykey Bertha's."

He did _not _just say that to her face- her bruised face no less.

"I. Am not. A drug dealer." Santana slowly stood up from her seat. Though the wrist that was handcuffed to the metal table rattled, she was undeterred in giving the best glare of her life.

"Really?" The lady cop who was the third in the rag-tag interrogation team entered the room for her dramatic moment and started cuffing Horton. They were making him leave so he could use his phone call and so Santana could be questioned more. Then after a few hours they would try and question again.

"Really. You are so wrong it's tragic," she tells them. "Look me up, the most you'll find is that one time I made a fully grown man on the subway cry by NOT drug dealing but crushing his nuts. I served my time in anger management and, like my boss said, I'm a _respectable_ lawyer."

Despite all the tension, Horton could have sworn her file said 'Angel Management' years ago, not 'anger management' because Angel Management was an online certification for workplace sensitivity and seemed perfectly reasonable to have on a personal record along with her speeding ticket.

The officers stare at each other and one of them should double-check this story but they're not willing to submit just yet.

Smokey snickers and gives Santana a condescending once-over saying, "we see girls like you mixed up in this all the time. Nice nails, nice clothes, hanging around drug boys for the money. You ain't fooling us, sugar. Trying to be smart and setting up a cover life… maybe I'd believe that guy is your boss if he had some kind of ID and wasn't found laying down a drop-kick on a police officer."

Horton winces (that was totally his bad), hoping he hadn't hurt that man too much from his heavy kick. He was surprised when Santana defended him instantly.

"Seriously? It wasn't his fault the police officer grabbed him from behind and startled him like that. For the _thousandth_ time, we were uninvolved with that deal! This is dumb, how did any of you ever become police detectives? Did you pass how to arrest and belittle innocents with flying colours? I know you definitely passed how to rape cigarettes and the eighties called, they want their mullet back!"

Horton conceded that on top of it all being forced to stare at that nasty mullet sucked, but now he was afraid of Santana pissing them off and getting in trouble.

"Sit down, bitch," says the man with his newest cigarette (and a subconscious touch of his aforementioned mullet). "We ain't easily tricked with your _respectable_ lawyer words."

And his continued sarcasm shoves any hope Horton and Santana had at reaching through to them anytime soon.

Horton was shoved out of the room as he heard her snap back at the policeman (something about daring to call her a bitch), and sighed. He was shocked with how easily Santana was being judged and he needed to get a hold of his identification to get them out of this mess as soon as possible. Those cops weren't listening to reason; apparently this arrest was too big for reason.

And he never knew Santana had such a grungy temper. She was always so silent, the secret weapon of the office and perhaps his biggest asset in the past few years. He and Michael were cutting jobs when they hired her to meet a formal standard but she won them some interesting cases and more interesting clients willing to pay for crazy lawsuits, almost always demanding to see her before anyone else at their firm. Michael, however, always said she wasn't to be trusted because of how all these new clients appeared asking for her instead of the firm as a whole and Michael always had the better business sense between the two so Horton listened… but he was starting to consider maybe Michael simply didn't appreciate how Santana constantly 'stole' his son's December rush.

Of course, shit got weird when he found out that very same silent-in-the-office-but-word-genius-in-the-courtr oom was Brittany's latest passion. And it got only weirder when Brittany refused to break up with her, claiming she was in 'total, spiraling, love' with the woman. And it got ten times weirder when his house was robbed seventeen hours ago and Brittany decided to give a speech on how Santana was going to be the one she married one day if she ever decided marriage wasn't for suckers.

Brittany saw something in her and Brittany got a lot of her insight from him so… she must see something worthwhile.

When the lady cop led him to the phone, he dialed the operator and murmured Santana's address from what he recalled, glad that Brittany only listened and promised to be there quickly once she picked up on the other side. He was too exhausted to go into detail about everything that just happened. If things went smoothly, they'd be out of here within a few hours and this misunderstanding would be the last of his horrible, horrible day.

First robbed, then slammed against a brick wall and handcuffed, now accused… Horton was not having a good night.

He was led into a holding cell and he would have sunk down on the uncomfortably rough and prickly bed once locked in but then he realized someone was already snoring there so he had to make do with standing and letting out a groaning sigh. There were two other holding cells across from him and they contained the drug dealers they were arrested with, who were _actually_ guilty, and all bruised and bloody from the brawl that took place in that alley.

The young man he and Santana chased was nowhere to be seen, clearly having escaped when the police shouted for everyone to stop moving and get down.

Smart kid, he supposes with another sigh. He's worn out and is about to close his eyes to try and relax (when he was younger he could easily stand and sleep at the same time) knowing now it's just a matter of waiting until he can get them out of this surreal situation, but the clinking of the cell he's in opens and Santana enters, scowling and ripping her arm out of the cop's grasp.

"You can go fuck off now, Smoke-a-ton," she hisses at him as he locks her in.

"You're such a little bitch aren't you," he snarls back. "You just sit tight and get comfortable. You'll be in that cell for years Mexican Princess."

Horton's eyes go wide, and he knows he should intervene and stand up for this woman he employed four or five (maybe it's six?) years ago because his office needed a woman and she was the best candidate on paper, but she gives him an exasperated look before he can think of something to say and the officer is gone so it's just the two of them and the passed out prostitute sleeping on the bunk bed that he only just noticed must be a prostitute from her bare attire.

And the night got even more awkward, just like that.

Santana paces a bit and then turns to him with a mirthless laugh, "crazy, huh? For the record I am _not_ related to those Lopez's."

"I know that," Horton agrees with her.

But she's clearly pissed and vents more.

"Really? Because I know you're not very educated on the whole multicultural thing," she grips the bars of the cell and he feels his feelings get punched from that.

"What?"

"You think I don't hear your racist jokes in the office?" She turns over and leans back, challenging him with an eyebrow raise. "And don't even get me started on how Rajesh quit last year because of all the Indian jokes, I was even going to quit. I had it all planned out, too! Found a nice rental space near the courthouses, all my clients would have been on board and I would have been free from your sexist-racist firm of bigoted shit-heads who slap each other's asses and burp in the coffee room!"

"Hey! Santana, you're just stressed out… we bother are!" Horton stands up, shocked at the words that have just been unleashed. And very aware that it's a horrifying truth he ignore(s)d.

"Stressed out?" Santana laughs covering her face. "Of all the women I had to fall in love with _your _daughter and I've been trying so hard! I do whatever she wants, I give her all that I have to give and now? Now because of my last name we're arrested and she's going to dump me and run away! And my face feels like it got mauled by a bear."

Horton understands a lot of things in that moment.

First: He's been a huge dick at work and thought that just because Santana has always been a good employee who does good things for the firm without bringing up the inter-office behaviour that she didn't know about it and now that he knows she knows it's scary when she gets mad and actually confronts him about it.

Second: His daughter really did a number on this fearless woman who looks like she's going explode from fear of losing Brittany because ironically her last name and the perpetual stereotype got her girlfriend's father arrested even though he knows he's just as responsible for deciding to kick a police officer in the chest so hard he flew a few feet.

Third: Santana actually _was_ going to leave the firm instead of clinging to their legacy, and she probably had every right to do it _and_ she would have taken away at least twenty to twenty-five percent of their yearly billable hours so she really was kind of irreplaceable and he wasn't above begging her to stay now that he was starting to realize how unfairly she was treated.

And last but not least: burping in the coffee room was going to be banned.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't realize that uh… well…"

"Look, no," Santana shakes her head like she regrets showing so much emotion to him, "I'm sorry. Those police officers just pissed me off and I got all rage-ey."

"Will you two shut the fuck up I'm trying to sleep," the prostitute groused from the bunk.

"Sorry," Horton said softly, just as Santana said "No. You shut up you were snoring like a horse when it neighs."

Horton's eyes go wide at her brisk attitude reappearing, but the woman just huffs and curls into the likely uncomfortable mattress, so Horton smiles in amusement. Santana was quite the interesting person, he supposes, because she also looks like she regretted being so mean for no reason.

"Santana, I know my Bree will understand. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. She's not going to… she would never break up with someone over something like that."

(Because if Brittany wouldn't break up with Santana to make things easier on her parents, she definitely wouldn't do it for a misunderstanding.)

"Really?" Santana pursed her lips (now looking honest-to-God worried), "because she's unpredictable. She stopped talking to me for a whole week once and I didn't get it but then things were fine again out of nowhere. And I mean, tonight was like some test to see how well we can all get along and I totally failed. I bailed the first chance I could get and I was actually going to book myself into a suite at the Plaza but then just when I figured out I could do it and be nice you and I end up in jail. In JAIL."

Horton is very moved by how much this woman across from him cares about his daughter (and how he wasn't the only one struggling to be nice) and he's not moved by much unless it's his handy stapler whom he calls 'Sal'. Clearly Brittany is more important to her than being free and comfortable, and of all the things to worry about - like how to get released from jail or how to get a hold of something to eat or drink before fainting - she's instead worried she'll get dumped.

"When Brittany suggested we all stay at yours, Susan and I weren't happy. We told her it was fine, I mean our niece Quinn is in town and has a lovely three-bedroom apartment up North while you have that single so why would we stay with you?"

Oh if only they had stayed there, he would be fast asleep now and not here (but alas, these things tend to happen for a reason and he was pretty sure he knew what he was to do).

"Then why'd you agree?"

"Because she told us you're the love of her life."

/

"I'm worried. Santana hasn't phoned yet," Brittany said to her sister and mother as they hailed a cab. "I mean, it's been twenty minutes since dad called and they give them a phone call, right? Right? So why hasn't she phone-called?"

"Yes honey, it is the city's protocol to allow that within twelve hours of arrest... What did your father say, exactly?" Susan asks her daughter, much calmer and serene in comparison.

"That he needs his passport so they can check him up in the system to release him and a lawyer to speed it up, he said you would be his lawyer. And he said Santana was fine, but why hasn't she called yet? What if she's not fine, what if she's in trouble or-or injured?"

"She'll call, don't worry," Gracie said, unused to seeing her usually calm and collected sister freak out like this.

Susan yawns, rubbing Brittany's thigh, "Yeah, you said your father said they were both in the situation so I'm sure it's not a big deal."

/

"Ugh. Don't get me started on Evans." Santana says to him.

"Why not? Sam's a nice boy." Horton golfed with him every month and has known him for fifteen years of partnership with Michael.

"Exactly. _Boy_. He's absolutely useless on cases, he's never impressed me even once and he always wins the coffee-room burpathons. And if we're being completely honest… his lips freak me out."

Horton shakes his head, he's known Sam for years and doesn't appreciate the criticism but he too has never been professionally impressed with the guy when he thinks about it so… Santana has a point.

And he really needs to put a 'No Burping' sign in the coffee room. He got that brand new coffee maker installed for a nice break during the work day for the secretaries and legal aids more so than the lawyers (and, okay, to make everyone stop billing their coffee purchases to the firm's expenses) but instead it was being degraded to what sounded like everyone's office nightmare.

"So let me get this straight," the prostitute, whose name is Cindalicious, was now pretty nice and chatty after having slept off most of her hangover. "You're dating his daughter and he's your boss, but you're both in jail and finally bonding after years of hate?"

"Not hate," Santana says, shivering a little from the cold in the room, digging her hands deeper into her coat pockets.

Horton feels cold too, and Cindalicious is hardly wearing anything which makes him feel empathetic towards her. He would offer his own jacket if the police hadn't taken it off of him to search for hidden pockets, angry that no ID was on him at all. Or weapons.

"Not much of anything, really," Horton says with a chuckle, because it was true. He had never known Santana and now he was getting to know her and it wasn't horrible.

"Here," Santana has taken off her black jacket in a few seconds and chucks it almost rudely at the shivering Cindalicious.

"Thanks," the woman actually smiles genuinely. "This is a nice jacket."

"Yeah it is, it's a new six hundred dollar Armani one so take care of it and wear it with pride." She looks away at her feet and adds, "because you can keep it. It's going to remind of getting falsely accused of drug dealing and it'll only piss me off."

He figures he might be able to find more common ground with this young woman his daughter loves after all.

/

"Fuck." Morgan Jones is a man of many words and many cigarettes, but that is all he can say right now as the Chief of Police in all her intimidating glory chews her gum with a sickening smack.

She entered the precinct a few minutes ago and told them to release the old guy and the young girl, explaining that she knew them and they were totally uninvolved. And now they were all sitting in a room together being forced to apologize and regret.

"You serious?" his partner, Lindsay Donovan looks paler than he does because they both have to make apologies now. Him more than her, but still.

Santana Lopez, who was telling the fucking truth after all, arches her eyebrow at him and crosses her arms. She's waiting for the apology he and Lindsay owe, as well as the other three detectives involved in tonight's drug bust.

The odd pair, Santana and Horton, actually _were_ respectable lawyers. In fact, Santana happened to be the personal lawyer of their Chief of Police Shannon Beiste.

And now she smirked at him, all taunting and 'I told you so, jackass' while sipping from the Styrofoam cup of coffee she was offered as their Chief kissed her feet and came to her rescue.

Like, fuck. He didn't see that one coming.

"Again, I'm sorry about their hasty finger-pointin'," Shannon fixes her belt buckle and slurps on her gum. "Charges are all dropped an' this'll be a thin' of the past Santana. The Walgreens camera footage we got confirms your story of chasing after a theft and the police department should be thanking the both of you for being concerned citizens."

Horton has never been so glad for hiring Santana as he is in this moment. Not only does she get them out of the situation by having the Chief of Police herself appear for their rescue at an ungodly morning hour, but she has the Chief of Police personally promise to keep her own interest in his house robbery.

"Look, I'm mad but I get it," Santana drops the Styrofoam cup in the bin. "They were just doing their jobs and they caught some crazy drug dealers in the process, so if they can all help figure out who robbed the Pierce's that would really make me feel better about this whole misunderstanding."

Horton is amused by how much he's enjoying her enjoy this. It is funny, and maybe a bit harsh but those officers pissed both of them off and a little 'in your face' was good for a corporate lawyer's soul.

"You heard her," Shannon snaps at the detectives.

"Oh," Santana adds, a great actress with a small frown, "My face is also _throbbing_ from pain… if I could FINALLY get some ice for it?"

"Yeah, it's a shiner," Shannon grunts. "And likely broken pumpkin, it's a teeny bit crooked."

Horton holds in a snort when the lady cop who really twisted his arm (literally) jolts off to go get the mentioned ice.

"Now, since we got this all taken care of," Shannon gets up and smiles kindly, "how about you two pumpkins get on home and catch some fifty winks, huh? There are three nice women waiting for ya' outside."

Santana turns to him with surprise, "you called them?"

He stands up and stretches his sore, twisted arm, "of course I did… they would have been worried otherwise."

"Yeah but, it's not like we were in the hospital," Santana looks a little panicky and less smug now that they don't have sorry police officers feeling bad to their faces and she knows the three Pierce women are waiting for them. "I mean, I thought you'd call a lawyer? They must be tired."

"Gracie and Susan _are_ lawyers," he says with a little laughter. "So… you called the Chief of Police, huh?"

Santana lowers her voice conspiringly, "she owes me for introducing her to her husband Fabio, my heavy-weight wrestling Italian client."

Horton is learning a lot about his stereotype fails, because for a moment there he assumed the Chief of Police was gay because of how manly she was and that's how Santana knew her.

"Santana, your face!" Brittany rushes up to Santana when they enter the lobby, cradling her cheeks and angling her face up.

Horton is a bit uncomfortable when Santana looks happy from the attention, letting Brittany coo over her and falling into an embrace that looks like euphoria. It's true, then. Those two were in love and he had a lot of learning to do so he could fully accept them. One day at a time.

"You okay, dad?" Gracie asks him and then he's bombarded with hugs by all of his girls, and his wife looks like she needs an immediate explanation (like that time he forgot Gracie at Disneyland).

Susan was a retired Vice District Attorney and criminal law was her specialty, so she's all professional guns-a-blazing and sexy, turning to the Chief with a stern look.

"What happened?"

"Nothing to worry about," Shannon says as the officer from before finally appears with ice for Santana's face. "My golly! Is that you Susan Pierce? Legend of the law?"

"Congratulations on your promotion Shannon, and what's this I hear about your wedding?"

"Aww shucks you are too sweet," Shannon pulls the smaller woman in for a tight hug and squeezes her.

(Brittany looks panicked, like she thinks her mom is going to break, but before she can act on that Shannon lets Susan drop and then chuckles.)

"We're sorry about the distress of it all, again. And you take care Santana – next time you call it should be for drinks an' some honky tonk instead of bailin' you out. And you, Brittany as lovely as ever doll, and this must be your sister Gracie hmm?"

Gracie shyly waved.

"Keep an eye on that one, Brittany, she's getting in trouble now, eh! Her face is turnin' bluer than the Friday Night Light's sky back home in Texas! Ain't this a small world, you two got a fine daughter you should be proud."

She disappears with laughter and Santana presses the cold ice to her face. "Is it really bad? I should probably go to the hospital because it's broken. I can't be walking around with a blue face! I have a press conference tomorrow because of our Sylvester trial on Wednesday afternoon!"

Horton winces, in all this excitement he had forgotten that he's got a drug-addicted CEO to negotiate (Terri Del Monico), a mistress-spanking Actor with too many nasty headlines (Dustin Goolsby), and Sue fucking Sylvester (who was Sue fucking Sylvester).

Of all the times to realize life is too short and if your daughter is in love with a woman so be it, it just had to be the busiest week of his year didn't it?

"I can take you to the hospital," the lady cop, Lindsay, offers standing oddly to the side, "we all feel guilty about it so… I mean…"

"I'll be fine, but thanks," Santana dismisses her and they all finally make it out to the street.

Fresh air.

Horton rubs his eyes and tells Santana, "there's the General Hospital nearby, we can check in there."

Santana nods and they all kind of just stand there until Brittany says to her girlfriend softly, "you didn't call. I was worried sick."

"Yeah, I had to call Beiste," is the off-hand reply as Santana starts looking through her long wallet that they gave back to her, checking through its contents for her medical insurance details and making sure nothing was missing.

"I could have phoned Beiste, Beiste and I are tight. We walk her dog Bruiser and Lord Tubbington together sometimes," Brittany says back, a bit of edging in her tone that makes Horton looks to his wife in question.

Susan shrugs, probably looking the most tired of all of them. He turns to Gracie who is sucking on a cherry lollipop and playing fruit ninja on her own phone, doing a poor job of pretending to eavesdrop.

Susan asks him if he's alright and he says yes, letting her fix his golf shirt's collar for him.

"It's no big deal, Britt, I just wanted to get out of the mess," they hear Santana tell Brittany. "I didn't want to wake you up and bug you."

The three of them turn around at the same time, knowing this was an ascending couple's argument that they were listening in on but they couldn't _not_ listen, it was happening two feet away.

"Bug me? Santana… now that I know you're okay even though your nose is deformed I'm mad at you for not calling! I'm your girlfriend, and not just a passing girlfriend, but the girl you drunkenly pledge your allegiance to on a weekly basis. We're like, a very serious relationship and my family is even getting to know you now."

"Okay, yeah, we're mucho serious," Santana says all blasé and holding the ice closer to her face. "So… you guys can crash back at my place and I'll go to the hospital. I'll get Becky to bring my work over there. And breakfast. And a change of clothes."

"Why does Santana have the best assistant in the office?" Gracie whispers to her father. "Sandy writes Desperate Housewives fanfiction and drinks weed tea… on a good day."

"Sandy Ryerson? I could swear I fired the guy five years ago and re-fired him around Christmas because he kept using our firm to legally harass Josh Grobin." Horton replies, disturbed at this bit of information.

"I'm coming with you," Brittany says to Santana.

Santana sighs, lowering her voice because she knows they're nearby, but still loud enough for them to hear despite it, "why would you want to come with me? It's five in the morning and I'll have to sit around and wait there for hours. Just go home and rest babe, you have work in the evening."

Horton has been married for twenty-nine years. He knows things about having a woman to love and care for and be loved and cared for in return.

Santana, apparently, doesn't know shit.

His wife mutters "oh dear."

"Worrying over nothing?" Brittany blinks and her voice goes very, very quiet.

Santana nods, "yes. I'll text you later, okay? Wait, I don't have my phone..."

She's completely oblivious, and Horton is completely shocked. This was the woman who seemed to know and understand every angle of client and opponent, the young woman whose unknown way of winning everything in and out of court kept their firm the most feared in the State, the young woman who gave a prostitute her jacket because she noticed shivers, the young woman who knew not to approach him and confront him about her relationship with his daughter after he was so obviously uncomfortable with it upon finding out…

And she was incapable of deciphering Brittany's need to accompany her to the hospital.

"I have your phone," Brittany says, still quiet, lifting it up from her jacket pocket and offering it out.

Santana smiles and thanks her, "great, I'll just phone Becky, so… later." She looks back at the other three Pierces who are pretending not to stare and then leans in for a kiss.

Horton waits to see what his daughter will do because she looks upset and 3, 2, 1, he called it: Brittany turns her head and Santana's kiss is rejected to land on her cheek.

Santana, however, is totally unaware and says, "right sorry. My face."

She gives them all a nod and then heads off toward the hospital, looking very comical with an icepack to her face and a wallet and phone clutched in her other hand while she crosses the street. And not at all insulted with the thought that Brittany wouldn't want to kiss her because of a bruised face. She couldn't be more off-kilter if she tried, Horton thinks.

Brittany turns to her mother and sister and raises an eyebrow, looking a little crestfallen and a lot annoyed.

Horton is starting to realize that fixing that problem _might_ be his business now that he knows how much those two love each other, but not now. He's way too tired and they all need to get some sleep. There would be no office this Monday for him, he was taking the day off and giving Santana one too.

/

"She does this all the time," Brittany says solemnly to her hot pink mug of hot chocolate.

She's hanging out at Quinn's for lunch and Gracie is with them too, except she's fast asleep on Quinn's bed from staying up for most of the night and then crashing epically as soon as they made it out of the elevator on their way to their cousin's. Brittany's parents had finally gotten in touch their bank manager over the phone and sorted out the issue of debit and credit cards before falling asleep back at Santana's house on the pull-out couch with Brittany's spare keys so they could leave and return when woke up, while Santana still hadn't phoned since leaving for the hospital and an antsy Brittany decided to head over and bug Quinn who didn't work Mondays and lived two blocks from the hospital Santana went to seven hours ago. Just in case Santana needed her or something.

Quinn pats her shoulder comfortingly, "look, Brittany, if my significant other told me to go home and rest I would think they were being considerate. It's not like she's dying, she's just got a broken nose."

Brittany's brain sparks at that though. She knows considerate Santana, considerate Santana makes an appearance usually on lazy Saturdays with an amazing massage and breakfast in bed. This was different.

"That's not what hurts. What hurts is that she doesn't seem to understand that I'm as worried about her as she ALWAYS gets about me. I cut my pinky finger? She whips out a first aid kit and gives me the biggest bandage in it. I mention I'm hungry, she feeds me only quality food, nothing even subpar. On the other hand, if I try to do anything for her she's all 'oh, no Britt-Britt, I'm a strong independent woman who doesn't need any kind of help whatsoever unless you wants to get your mack on then I don't mind you helping me out but even then I'm so whipped by you and your awesomeness that I'll only sit back and give you sex when you want it and-and no, baby, don't cook for me just make me coffee if you really, really, really want to!' It is the weirdest balance in a relationship, Quinn. I don't think it's natural. I'm pretty sure since she's shorter than me, she's supposed to be less of a suck-up."

"Very, very good Santana voice." Quinn adds in cheekily, giggling when Brittany finally cracks a smile.

"Stop making me laugh when I'm trying to rant or I'll ask you about Mike again."

"Whatever. I think that was the most detail I've ever heard you go into you and Santana… usually you grin and brag about your sex life."

"Why have a sex life if it ain't nothing to brag about?" Brittany taunts, "I'm sure you have some abs-tastic fun with Chang-Chang the bang-bang. He's got moves, girl."

"Shut _up_! You guys could have come to stay with me, you know," Quinn adds, blushing a little (and taking a happy sip of her coffee because her sex life was worth bragging about these days, if she wasn't too much of a prude to brag) to try and change the subject.

"And ruin your one day of the week to have total alone time with him? No. I'd rather force my family to accept Santana and set in motion the circumstances surrounding her arrest!"

They explode into laughter and Quinn holds her stomach while Brittany wipes a tear from her eyes.

"It's like my romance is one of those Ashton Kutcher movies, right?" Brittany gulps down her hot chocolate and smiles, surprisingly not ready to collapse despite having stayed up all night.

Quinn is feeling pretty wow-ed as she says with thoughtful realization, "she's catering to your every whim, Britt, it's like a fairytale. She's obviously not a bad person, being in love with her sounds like a paradise… for you. I mean, when we were roommates she was super intimidating but around you she's a little kitty cat. I think it's adorable and romantic."

"It's overcompensating is what it is," Gracie announces as she intrudes, looking like she escaped a grand tornado from her messy bed head and droopy eyes. "Coffee?"

"Help yourself," Quinn smiles, much more cautious of what should be gossiped about around her younger cousin (who she refuses to believe is a non-virgin despite all the clues otherwise).

"Overcompensating?" Brittany leans her cheek on her palm and thinks. "I'm pretty sure that was the word missing in my crossword puzzle yesterday morning. Shit."

"Gracie might have a point," Quinn says considerately, "I did psychology before I decided on law, and Santana shows classic signs of someone who is insecure with believing they're worth loving without material advantages. She treats you better than she treats herself. Stop complaining and enjoy it, she's just thoughtful."

"I know what you mean." Gracie cuts in, interested, "But it does suck because she totally thought Brittany wouldn't find her bruised face attractive this morning when she went in for a kiss a got de-nied!"

"Huh." Quinn taps her cheek and then theorizes, "she _really_ worships you, doesn't she?"

"Spy much?" Brittany chucked a crinkled napkin at her sister, blushing from the 'worship' finger pointing.

"Not sorry," Gracie shrugged, "I haven't been watching television since I started working full time and your life is as close to Days of Our Lives as it gets."

"You watch Days of Our Lives?" Quinn squinted in distaste, "unfriended, Gracie."

"Totally disowned," Brittany added.

"Fuck off!"

"Is it really that bad?" Quinn finally asks when she notices Brittany still looking down about the whole thing despite the jokes.

Brittany lets out a long sigh.

"It's not bad… exactly. It's just… I mean, we're equals, you know? She doesn't need to try so hard all the time it makes me feel like I don't give as much as I get. God, when I say it out loud I sound like an idiot. Millions would kill for what I have. I just… I just want her to know I have her back when she needs me, and to let me do more for her than a lap dance on the full moon."

"What's so special about the full moon?" Gracie asks her sister as Quinn blushes behind her mug from too much information.

"It's totally synced with my need to strip and be naked, I'm like a lap-dancing werewolf or something."

"Gross, Britt. TMI," Gracie sticks her finger in her mouth and gags.

"You asked, and it's not weirder than Quinn and Mike having morning sex in the kitchen and evening sex on the balcony… before the sun sets all the way."

"Ooooh Quinn, you naughty-naughty!" Gracie hollers.

Quinn looks affronted and retaliates, "Okay, well I'm not the one who enjoys wearing her riding gloves and paints her girlfriend's dildo the colours of her old motocross bike!"

"Ewww Quinn said dildo and riding in the same sentence," Gracie giggles.

"Touché." Brittany says, pretending to let Quinn think she's won so as to catch her off guard with, "you closet cowgirl. Who likes to ride now, huh?"

Quinn's face turns beet red so Gracie helps her older cousin out with a casual, "don't worry cowgirl. Brittany likes to dress up as a slutty policewoman and call Santana a bad, bad girl! Which trumps all role-plays because Santana actually got arrested."

"Suck on that Pierce," Quinn high-fives Gracie as Brittany pouts in her brief defeat.

Just when they both think it's over she says, "Let's talk Teletubby Gracie and Lois Quinn Lane."

Gracie realizes that the only way Brittany could know about that is if she saw a certain cell phone video of an ex boyfriend in a certain costume and squeals, "bitch! And okay, there is nothing wrong with our kinky side coming out to play, it means we have high self-esteem and… there is nothing wrong with a little fantasy."

"Whatever you say, Tinky Winky."

"I'm going to go barf over there," Quinn can't for the life of her imagine a scenario that results in a Teletubby being at all sexy.

"You mean on the balcony?" Brittany mocks Quinn, "_Before_ sunset?"

/

"Really, Santana," Susan insists, "this is a thank you for letting us stay. It's been quite the adventure hasn't it? You must be hungry, I'm sure."

Santana smiles even though doing so hurts her face because her nose was broken and the face muscles screamed in agony when used too much. The white bandage covering it as it heals after being jerked around by the doctor keeps making her get odd looks, which is annoying. That little girl with her mother two blocks away from her apartment started crying, even.

She take a seat at her kitchen island and watches with a mix of excitement and trepidation as Susan busied herself with her stove. This was Brittany's mother so maybe the gene of horrible cooking Brittany seemed to have came from her and whatever was poling in that pot was going to send her back to the emergency room. And, sure, Santana didn't mind food poisoning from Brittany's incomprehensibly atrocious attempt at cooking but that was different because Brittany was her ladylove.

Speaking of the stove, she loves that stove, "it's a Firgidaire-"

"-from Canada," Susan finishes, looking happily at her. "A very nice one, I found the user's manual in your drawer and picked up some groceries earlier so I thought I'd use it, if that's alright?"

"Yeah," she was just grateful the woman wasn't taking her amazing stovetop for granted. "Do… you like it? It's got this cool bridge element that lets me combine space to fit whatever size I want."

"It's great," Susan apparently knows where all the spices are too and tosses them left and right like a magician. She's not using a recipe, just going with the flow. "I personally love the quick way water boils on it. I need to get one of these and now's a good time as any considering the thieves hammered my—our—stove to bits."

Santana feels bad for the woman, the whole family actually, because she has a lot of nice shit she's collected to frame her classy, sexy image and if someone stole it all and then hammered her stove on top of that she'd be pissed too. Like, there were toothbrushes missing. It really was the insanest of all insane robberies.

"I can get one for you," Santana offers without really thinking too much because she's low on friends (let alone someone to discuss cooking or even the weather with), and she's getting kind of excited. "I have a client with dual citizenship who owns some appliance stores up there and shipped it for free."

"Oh," Susan pauses and then smiles widely, "that's very nice of you to offer, Santana."

Right now she reminds Santana of her old neighbour Mrs. Bixby. Mrs. Bixby and her grandmother were intense gardening freaks. Both old women with some kind of back or hip dilemma so Santana not only had to take care of her grandmother's lawn when it needed heavy duty raking/weeding/lawn-mowing but also Mrs. Bixby's. At least Mrs. Bixby offered her tea and scones while her grandmother told her "in my day I also shot the chicken with a rifle and clawed out its guts with my bare hands. Tending grass is easy you little punk" in angry Spanish if Santana slacked.

Santana coughs and toys with the thick folder full of paperwork in her hands. She should do this portion of her never-ending paper pile, but she should also engage Susan in conversation. She _did_ promise Brittany she would try harder and the nice woman _was_ cooking for her and reminding her of Mrs. 'nice tea and scones' Bixby.

"So, what are you making? I'm not a fan of jicama, tried it once in junior college and got nauseous."

"Sounds like you may have eaten the poisonous part of it," Susan stirred the pot and then handed Santana the wooden spoon of something red on the tip. "There. All done. It's just a tomato soup, perfect for soothing the stomach after all of that stress I think."

Santana accepted the spoon and clamped her mouth over it.

And then… fireworks.

"This is amazing," she stood up and got out the only two bowls she had in her apartment, "whatever spice blend you used just blew my mind."

Susan, very happy with the critique, smiled as her husband came in and rubbed his hands together saying, "yes. The famous tomato soup that has always solved all of our problems. Only to be made with the right tomatoes or otherwise not made at all."

"Brittany called and said she's working until ten tonight, and Gracie is with Quinn for the day, giving called in sick, so…" Susan said as Santana used a ladle to put soup in the two bowls and hand them over with some silver soupspoons before waiting for them to eat.

"Not going to eat?" Horton said, much more comfortable with his employee after their dreaded night of being taken into custody and faced with eager-to-bust cops. It was a sure-fire way of bonding unintentionally.

"Not sure I have another bowl, though maybe…" Santana searched for something to put her own serving of soup in and happened to find Brittany's plastic lucky charms bowl.

(It was an atrocious piece of plastic on its own when Brittany wasn't smiling at her while munching out of it.)

"I can't believe Bree still has that," Horton chuckled, staring at the bowl. "Trade you? That was mine until it was hers."

Susan looked between the two with interest, noticing her husband's change in demeanor towards the girl that knew their daughter in pornographic ways. She had to admit, it was nice. Santana was quite charming on her own account and Susan was proud to assume she had a good judge of character from her years working in law with other lawyers.

Horton and Santana swapped bowls and then they all dug into the delicious soup, only pausing when Susan coughed into her hand.

After finishing, Santana debated seconds. It was soup, after all, not the most calories. And she needed to energize up so… totally not over eating. She was grateful when seconds were offered and they all finished off round two of the soup, sitting in content silence.

"Um…" Santana bit her lip, "I forgot to ask if you wanted something to drink. Do you want something to drink?"

"We're fine, thanks," Susan said and then grabbed the dishes before Santana could. "I'll do the dishes since we're the ones imposing, and I'm sure you've got a lot of work to do."

Santana relaxed and then, since he was her boss and new jail-friend, "You're… not imposing. Um…"

She turned to Horton, still not addressing him with a name or title of any kind, "we can go over Sylvester material if you're up for it. I'll read you my new closing."

She had some new evidence to use courtesy of her assistant Becky Jackson who, as of this morning in the emergency room, decided Santana had to start paying her weekly bonus in hundred dollar bills or else Becky was keying her car (the car that Santana rarely drove and kept in a rental space garage). Becky was such a conniving bitch and if she hadn't found this evidence Santana would have keyed Becky's car… or her mom's car since Becky didn't have one, except Becky's mom was a nice angel who invited her over for Sheppard's Pie so she really had to figure out a way to stop letting Becky win all the time.

"I found out that she's been making interesting payments under the name Madonna. And I'm serious, not joking. She used the name Madonna."

"That sounds like something that needs a cup of coffee," he said, not sure what he'll be finding out, " and anything that helps prove some kind of fraudulent behaviour is a saviour for our case at this point, we might be dragging it on past Wednesday."

Santana nods because she's not going to verbally admit to needing a saving grace but this was a possible million for her if they won. A million she was having dreams about everyday as the court date got closer, rolling in money and taking a long-needed vacation with Brittany to someplace with a beach and drinks served on trays. They had to win.

"Would… would you like some coffee, too?" Santana asks Susan, feeling timid under her gaze because was Susan staring at her bandage? Her bandage and bruised nose were taking away her perfect face's natural glow and during tomorrow she needed her sexy-face for the cameras. She might just make Gracie do her press conference for her, or even that silent African-American who worked on the floor below her because he never spoke (which is why she acknowledged his existence) and she was curious if it was because he had a secret speech impediment or something.

But, no. No one knew what to say the way she did and she didn't trust anyone else with her work so it looks like she'd have to brave it and pretend nothing was wrong with looking like you got mugged on television.

"I – why, yes. I would love some, thank you," Susan looks like she's blushing now and Santana feels very accomplished with her attempts of civility.

She thinks she can do this 'in-law' thing after all. It's all coffee, politeness, nice kitchen appliances, and awesome tomato soup praising.

/

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Why did the monkey fall out of the tree? Because it was dead. Why did the second monkey fall out of the tree? Because it was stapled to the first monkey. Why did the refrigerator fall out of the tree? It had no arms. Why did the little girl fall off her tricycle? Because she was hit by three monkey's and a refrigerator, duh! But why did the fourth monkey fall out of three? Peer pressure.

Dear readers, please enjoy this chapter ;)

Disclaimer: Not intended for copyright infringement, only amusement and creative output.

_**That Awkward Moment When**_

Santana was having a great day. Just last night, she had gotten her biggest payout ever and then Brittany ran them a bath and shit got sexy.

One million fucking dollars – that was the prize of besting Sue Sylvester by ranting in court and glaring at juror number seven whenever he dared make eye contact. She owned Sylvester so bad (with SOME help from Horton and others, okay, but not much) that the blonde woman with a questionable birth date got so frustrated she had to knock out a drunk lady with an uppercut to let out her anger.

The news was even replaying that shot of Sylvester punching the woman 'who got too close after the verdict was called' in the face and it already had seven million hits on YouTube.

So the day was wonderful, one million dollars of wonderful. Life was wonderful. She was rich, she was famous (Hot Lawyer With Black Eye Takes Down Sylvester was a news article Becky found in one of the cheaper papers, but still awesome), and she was going to have the day late one year anniversary dinner with her amazingly talented, perfectly awesome all the great adjectives girlfriend who had sex with her even when Santana's face looked like it got bitch slapped real bad at… wait for it…

BreadstiX.

This could very well be the happiest day of her life if nothing unexpected ruined it (like the Pierce's hotel room at the Plaza catching fire and a sudden need of emergency accommodation again).

Everyone at work was totally in awe of her and it made her ego inflate, Horton bragged about her in the morning staff meeting without making it sound lame, Becky informed her that she was booked with appointments for new potential clients who heard she was the best, and the extra plus was that Judge Howard Bamboo sent her flowers for hooking him up ASAP with a mechanic to fix the 'WORST JUDGE EVER!' spray-painted on his car right after he sentenced Sue Sylvester with a hefty fine. The random gifts that kept showing up from thankful victims of Sylvester's drug was awesome too, even though one person's gratitude gift was a love letter begging to be given a chance, probably the creepy moustache guy who had the side effect of constant drool.

To top it all off, Brittany sent her a picture at three in the afternoon of tiny, scimpy aqua green lingerie laid out on her bed bordered in elegant silver lace trim with a text that read: _casual clothes 2nite but sexy underclothes 4nite. Get it? ;P _

Adorable and sexy. Santana was so looking forward to tonight. She had even bought jeans for the occasion since she didn't own any and set up candles, music, and red rose petals in her bedroom.

She closes her office door behind her and drops her private smile to put on her cool business face and greets her assistant, "I'm done for the day Becky-"

"You're fucking the boss's daughter!" Was Becky's greeting, replacing her usual 'can I go home now?' nagging.

"What the," Santana glances around quickly, just in time to witness many stares and terrible pretending not to stares. "Shh! Shut up Jackson! How the fuck do you know about that?"

Seriously. Every time she wore purple, shit went down. A few weeks ago she dared a purple tank top and yes, Britt totally felt her up because purple looked super hot with her skin tone, but then some kid's ice cream got shoved into her (on purpose, that little shit!) and when the kid cried Brittany ignored her and her stained shirt and bought the little crier a new cone AND didn't hold her hand on the way home like it was Santana's fault for making a kid who didn't see where they were walking cry and lose their massive ice cream cone. Like, fuck.

So purple was so not her colour and she should have known this by now. These purple suede Louboutins were a bad idea and it wasn't like she was superstitious or anything, it was just that for some weird fucking reason purple was a common factor in all of her issues.

The single candy in her pocket when her grandmother locked the door and never looked back? Grape. And Purple.

The paint tossed on her by a crazy girl in law school who didn't understand that 'I'm gay, yes, but not interested in you?' Also purple.

The monster that totally haunted her bedroom when she was five? Royal purple asshole.

"Sandy Ryerson, who's Gracie Pierce's assistant told me. Why didn't you tell me, Santana, now Ryerson thinks he's the office gossip shit and I look like a fool!" Becky informs her, annoyed.

"It's none of your business, that's why," Santana defends, pretending it's not a big deal that Becky and the rest of the office know this when inside she can't seem to stop panicking like 'shit.' (Or more like 'shit, shit, all the shit, shit!') "Does everyone know?"

"Everyone knows, except Tasha because she's vacationing in Switzerland with her husband. Duh. This is a law firm full of obnoxious assholes."

Santana sighs (she knows she's one of the most narcissistic here while others are much nosier) and sits on Becky's desk, pretending the stares all down the spread out office floor from the secretarial area to the water cooler to the doorway of the coffee room don't affect her one bit when inside she feels like that circus lady with the absurd beard. She hasn't panicked about anything for years in her life and now, in the span of a week and a half, she's panicked enough to probably give her amazing face some wrinkles.

First with Brittany dragging in her robbed family, then with getting arrested alongside Brittany's dad who happened to be the Pierce half of Pierce&Evans by persistent cops (one with a greasy mullet which was just ew, now on the list of things that can't be unseen), and then there was also that whole guilt trip with the cherry pie debacle plus the random moments lately where Brittany acts funny and aloof and doesn't open up but gets more sexually aggressive.

And now the whole office knew she was sleeping one of Horton Pierce's daughters when she made sure no one even knew her birthday or middle name (or choice hair salon).

"Great. I beat Sylvester in court and help this firm skip boycotting jobs and cutting salaries and everybody thanks me by talking behind my back. I can't believe I'm saying this but… I might have to go retro to get this heat off my back."

"What the fuck are you mumbling about?" Becky asks.

"Lima Heights Adjacent, Becky. Imma go ALL Lima Heights and teach these prying losers to fuck off and mind their own damn business... except, maybe you could do me a favour and mention loudly near the Trouty Mouth about how you heard about our great sex life? He seems the type to feel emasculated and I hate him on principle." It's been ages since she's had to go Lima Heights, but people should know not to mess with her when her honeymoon phase with Brittany was starting to escalade. She was so tired out from the increased sex these days that she hadn't even done her full routine at the gym.

"I'll do it later, it's the end of the day on a Friday and rumour has it you're celebrating your one year anniversary at the BreadstiX VIP table tonight."

Okay. Now that was just weird.

"Seriously? People even know about that? The one million seven-hundred and thirty two dollars Sylvester had to pay me when she lost disastrously barely makes me pretend this isn't happening right now."

With a particular glower at the water cooler, the dude staring stumbles backwards and knocks it over, diverting the attention away from her momentarily. Dumbass.

Now the random stares throughout the day made sense (because she was used to getting stared at but not so oddly) and the way everyone whispered about her apparent hobby of underground gambling fights with drug dealers that resulted in her brief arrest earlier in the week and… shit. Now everyone knew she was gay. So many people had never known that about her all at once, usually only the girl receiving the Santana Lopez Experience knew about how pride parade she was (by receiving attention in the sack).

She was now outed at work and six years of effort to keep personal from professional was wasted because she ended up falling for the boss's daughter and her whole firm found out about it like some Reese Witherspoon moment or CW dramedy.

This. This was just another fucking purple shit tornado. She didn't like her private affairs being talked about like the daily weather.

"Stop bragging about your money, we all get it! You got like, the biggest cut of the biggest law suit ever. Just shut up already." Becky says. "It's not like I got any of that money."

Too busy meditating with thoughts of money, Santana nods to herself and Becky continues speaking.

"I mean, I spent eight hours with your ugly butt in the hospital and you can't even tell me about how you're getting some? I told you about my ex boyfriend that time we got stuck in the elevator together."

"And every day since then I wish you didn't."

"Bitch. Just so you know, I knew your gay ass was gay."

"Insensitive. I prefer pertaining to and exhibiting desire to person's of the same sex," Santana said, only to feel confused as to why she was even bothering to entertain Becky at all.

Becky snorts, and Santana straightens her back and raises her voice just the slightest to give orders and go back to being the hard-ass boss who doesn't crack jokes, "make sure nobody says crazy shit about it, okay? If they want your gossip you can confirm I'm dating Gracie's sister who happens to be boss Pierce's older daughter, but no I don't underground fist fight drug dealers because that doesn't happen in real life, they shoot you and you die if you pick a fight."

(The people she worked with proved time and time again to be royally gullible and stupid.)

"Psh. I fist fight underground drug dealers," Becky winks and then slaps Santana's thigh. "Now get off my desk. You have a date to get ready for and I don't want your ass on my pure oak desk longer than necessary."

"Oh shut up, I bought you this desk because you complained about the gum stuck under your old one!"

Becky gives her the finger and Santana rushes for the elevator, pissed off and ready to go home and go over how she'll sweep Brittany of her feet and convince her to be with her for years to come.

"Bad day?" Gracie is standing in the elevator with a bright smile, purse hiked up on one shoulder, and clearly the reason for all the Friday bullshit.

"Everyone knows!" She accuses.

"Knows what?"

"About me! About me and Brittany! About me and your dad getting arrested!"

"Okay, I'm pretty sure I heard Dad was the one who got arrested and you just beat the cops off of him which is how you got the bruise."

So many variations going around, Santana felt shocked at how ridiculous it all was.

"This is a law firm, these people are qualified lawyers. Are you seriously telling me they think I got away with beating police officers? You know what, I don't want to know. My day was awesome and now it's horrible."

"It's true, they believe a lot of stuff. Jessica from taxes thinks you got Brittany pregnant."

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"I know right? Brittany said she won't get pregnant until she's twenty-eight or thirty because I was born on the twenty-eighth of May and she was born on the thirtieth of-"

"December." Santana glares at Gracie. "Let's just ignore the fact that I'm a girl and a girl can't get another girl pregnant, shall we, because it's just a fucking fact, dammit! What is everyone in this office drinking?"

"I think there's weed tea going around from some brand called 'The Chronic Lady'. Also, Brittany said that when you raise your voice at other people it's usually because you're hungry but I think you're just mean."

"Am not. You are."

"Nuh-uh."

"You're obviously the one who gossiped about me to everyone in the office, so that makes you the bitch here Gracie-PIE."

With an offended gasp as the elevator dings open and Santana storms out, Gracie follows her out through the main lobby and onto the busy downtown street. She says, "I'm telling Brittany you were horrible to me for things I didn't mean to do – I was speaking to her on the phone privately and Sandy overheard! He's totally fired, for like the fifth time now. Sixth if you count the weed tea."

Santana pauses and turns to a panting Gracie who was red in the face.

"Sorry," she grudgingly said. "I always go to the yelling place. I have rage. If I snack on almonds it helps but I forgot to pack some today."

Gracie sighed, "it's okay. I'm actually glad we rode the elevator together, because I keep missing you this week and just wanted to say thanks for letting me and my parents stay with you Sunday night."

"It's cool, your mom cooked for me on Monday and your Dad doesn't glare at me any more and I don't' glare at him. No need to thank me."

"Yeah I guess not…" Gracie grinned slyly, "what with Brittany giving it to you three nights in a row. No wonder you look exhausted."

Santana grimaced, "are you trying to joke about my sex life with me?"

"Yeah. It builds a sisterly repertoire, or even a non-sisterly but friendly platonic flirtatious rep-"

"No. Just… No."

"No to building a-"

"No to talking about my sex life ever. I don't' do that. I gots class." And issues. Lots and lots of issues concerning communication and privacy and sex talk with someone she hardly knew and personally found crazy.

"Come on. Everyone divulges little things about their sex life to mimic happy television comedies or, in my case, to keep up with Brittany. I'll go first, okay? So, once I did it on the back of an elephant."

Santana let that process in her mind, and then she gave the universe another five seconds to reconsider what was just divulged before she realized she would never be the same ever again.

"Too fucking wanky for me to even…"

Gracie laughed and added, "Oh – not like the actual back, it had one of those tiny little wooden things on top, like a little tree house?"

"I really don't need the imagery."

Gracie closed her mouth and stared at Santana, and Santana stared back at her. This happened for a few moments until Gracie realized Santana was possibly disturbed, so she tried to amend things.

"Well… can I buy you some Starbucks before your date tonight as a thank you? Please? I promise not to talk if you accept it."

With a wave of her hand (because a promise not to talk was good after that little fracas in her brain), Santana lets Gracie lead them to the Starbucks nearby.

"You can talk you know, just don't mention anything that'll make me want to kill myself because I have a hot date tonight," is her return peace offering to the youngest Pierce.

Gracie smiles, happy that Santana was willing to talk to her, proving to Santana that Gracie was actually trying very hard to get along with her and just simply didn't know that talking about fucking on an elephant's back would ruin her.

Gracie says, "you know, suddenly my parents love you. Dad is all about how hard of a worker you are and how I should shadow you on cases-"

"Isabelle Wright's deliberations start next week, you in?" She interrupts, dangling a carrot in front of the sex-bunny.

"Yes! Thank you, thank you!" Gracie leaps for it and then calms herself by readjusting her purse, "And Mom has been gushing over the recipe book you lent her and all the advice you gave her for renovating the kitchen."

Santana nodded at this information, pleased and proud to hear Susan was serious about pimping out for a new kitchen. Like, who wouldn't be? (Not including Brittany and Tina who microwave instant noodles every time they run out of frozen food and don't understand the need for something more expensive and new when their old stuff was 'just fine, Santana, smack it a few times and it'll work').

"Can I please have a tall vanilla soy latte, no whip, shot of espresso?" Gracie ordered as they went to the counter, with a tone so depressingly flirtatious it made Santana want to puke.

The barista boy blushed and nodded, and Santana ordered her Americano with an amused smile, until Gracie took the flirting to an awkward level and just flat out licked her lips like the boy was a juicy steak and said, "and _please_ write your number on the soy latte?"

Santana is pretty sure he got a boner, and she hands a twenty over to the poor, ensnared guy. "You're working, have some professionalism Romeo and wash your hands before making my drink."

He stutters and gets their orders ready, red in the face. Someone behind Santana snickers. She turns to the eavesdropper and sees a tall, brown-haired guy with plastic glasses avert his eyes and cough awkwardly while scratching at his unshaved chin. She narrowed her eyes at him, finding something odd, but turned back when Gracie spoke up.

"Hey! I was supposed to pay for you, and who I try to seduce is none of your business," Gracie looks frozen in her spot from the way Santana embarrassed her possible Sunday brunch buddy. She glares at the guy snickering behind Santana, finding him very cute but incredibly familiar to her at the same time, and gives him an equally flirtatious grin.

Santana snaps her attention away by speaking with a scolding indentation.

"First of all, you're my girlfriend's littler sister. I can't let you pay, that's like stealing candy from a baby which I only did once because the baby was going to choke on it. Second of all, you invited me for some coffee so that makes it my business and third… I was doing come charity work and saving that guy from you."

Gracie is offended until she sees Santana smirking, and then she giggles because Santana is teasing her (but serious all the same) and they're getting along even though they aren't getting along. So like, instead of trading sex stories they can just trade insults.

Awesome.

"So you'll buy me things like you do for Britt?" She asks Santana.

Silence. Santana supposes she might have to do that to stay in Gracie's good graces.

"I'm kidding," Gracie lightly taps her arm. "So you're meeting Britt at seven tonight, right?"

Santana shrugged and sipped her black coffee. "Which way are you walking?"

"Which way are you walking?" Gracie repeated, still trying hard to get Santana to talk.

"To my apartment."

Gracie nodded slowly. They were making progress and now Santana was being indifferent again. "Well, have a nice dinner… Brittany's pumped… so… I'll just… go…yeah."

She dejectedly walked away, and Santana felt a small tug in her heart, like she did something wrong.

And then, as a cloud parted in the sky and a ray of light shone upon Gracie's not as perfectly blonde as Brittany's hair, Santana understood why Gracie was being repeatedly shoved into her life with invasive conversation.

She could totally _use this – _use her to figure out what the fuck was up with he sudden need for Brittany to only have sex with her lately.

"Wait! Why don't you hang out with me till I pick up Britt. Isn't she making you babysit Tubbs?" She took a quick breath and used her sexy demanding voice (it was her default voice).

Gracie's eyes lit up at the offer, "that would be great! I can paint your nails or something."

"No."

"Facials?"

"… are you asking these questions to piss me off on purpose?"

"No... but you don't talk about, like, anything. This is just like when my mom was all 'Oh Santana, thank you so much for letting us invade your home the very least I can do is offer you pie' and you were all 'no! Pie is the end of world' from the way you panicked."

"Pft. Touché."

"Your place is really cool by the way."

Santana smiled, "thanks."

"And for the record, I think you and Brittany are totally adorable together."

"Thanks, I think so too." Santana paused, and then took this moment to infiltrate and gather the necessary information. "So… what does Brittany say about me, exactly?"

Gracie smiles, all cute and innocent. "She loves you."

"I know that," Santana says, unmoved. "What about specifics. Anything I can improve on, because she didn't talk to me for two days before practically attacking me in the shower and okay I get that I had a bruised face and it needed time to heal but she didn't even text me back at first."

"Specifics? I thought you were above sex-talk, and whatever my sister tells me is between the two of us and sometimes Quinn."

Santana scowls. This bitch was toying with her. Shit.

"Don't worry, from what I hear she only ever compliments your bedside manners. Or, you know, pretending to be her motocross bike manners."

What a bitch. Santana huffed, not one to back down from that type of teasing.

"Well, I have to be really good in bed if I want to keep her," Santana defended when she caught the sexy wink Gracie sent over her coffee cup to the barista boy. "I think you need to see a therapist."

"That's rude!"

"You were giving your number out to a complete stranger. The number is to be given out only to someone who earns it, G."

"G?"

"Calling you Gracie-Pie will slowly erode my tongue. G it is."

"Cool. I feel older already."

"And older girls don't give coffee baristas boners."

"Unless I'm role playing right?"

"Who would role play in a coffee shop?"

"Me and Eduardo when I call him," Gracie lifted her cup so Santana could see the number scribbled with the name.

It was an instant reaction type of situation. She grabbed the coffee, still full, and chucked it in the trash can.

When she turned back to Gracie who looked incredibly shocked and had her hand still cupped around the space that previously held her delicious coffee, Santana felt bad and chucked her own unfinished drink into the bin too to even the score.

"I care about your sister and that means I have to try to care about you and screwing randoms the way you do means you're addicted to sex. Addictions need help."

"I am not some sex addict," Gracie looked pretty furious now, glaring at Santana, but also still shocked from what was happening.

Santana sighed, "look, I'm sorry, okay? I'm judgmental, and other than your sister I don't connect with people unless they're paying me to be their lawyer or Michelle Obama because everyone can connect with her."

'True," Gracie conceded, "but while I was trying to get to know you and manipulate you into spending time with me and tease you about your sex-life… I don't think we know each other that well yet and what I do is none of your business."

"This is why I have no friends," Santana grimaced. "Just forget it."

"It's okay," Gracie said quietly.

Santana crossed her arms, "wait Gracie…"

When Gracie looked at her, Santana straightened her back and decided 'what the hell.'

"Actually, I'm not sorry."

"What!"

"Just listen, okay?" Santana hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder and said as lowly and quietly as possible with more seriousness than usual, "I'm amazing and I'm amazing all by myself. I don't need anybody to feel good about myself and if I decided to date someone, I only date someone who can keep up with me – someone like Brittany who's the crème a la crème."

"Uh..?"

"You have to have standards, G. Standards are how you succeed."

"Standards?" Gracie tests the word on her tongue.

"Yeah, and take it from me. I was all alone for a long time, and meaningless sex might seem cool and fun but you and I both know it's empty. Right?"

Gracie is quiet as they walk to Santana's apartment, and Santana hopes she didn't totally overstep and ruin what little friendship they had started. She just couldn't witness Gracie fuckup and risk catching STD's when she could do something to stop it.

But then Gracie says, "I hope you're my sister-in-law someday, okay?"

And Santana is pleased that Gracie is willing to listen and the thought of marrying Brittany is absolutely faultless.

/

Brittany was all over her for the last three nights, like white on rice (if it was white rice, duh because there were different kinds of rice) despite her bruised face. There was even one point during the first night of grateful 'thank you for being so awesome with my family' sex that Brittany decided they should take this opportunity of Santana's deformed face to make up some kind of role play. Santana wanted to play nurse and injured person because it was the least creepy kink she could think of, but Brittany decided she was more turned on with the thought of Santana saving her cat (not her, but her fucking CAT) from evil kidnappers and bringing him home.

The very cat that was now ruining her life again by happily drenching a pair of her brand new shoes left freshly sprayed with protector ( so she could wear them for her special date) out in the open with his piss.

"No! Not my new shoes!"

She glared at the guilty fat cat who just (smugly) stood up from his comfortable resting place on top of her newest pair of shoes, delivered just yesterday and worn not even once. Yep. He pissed on her new shoes.

Motherfucker totally did it on purpose.

Gracie coos at her sister's cat and picks him up, looking worriedly at Santana's shoes.

"You little evil—I would never save you from kidnappers!" Is Santana's comeback. The huge fucker just meows at her in victory.

"Hey!" Brittany slides over on her fuzzy home slippers that were actually socks purchased so she could slide on Santana's expensive mahogany floors and ended just in front of Santana with a lazy smile, popping her foot up and leaning in for a quick peck like 'mwah' and an affectionate poke on her cheek.

This was a normal cute greeting, and Brittany's eyes were twinkling like she was all kinds of happy and excited, warming Santana's heart with pride to receive such a simple gesture of affection. "Hey Gracie! Why are you here?"

"Hey Britt. Just talking with Santana… getting to know her a bit and stuff… why are you here?"

They shared a weird look and then Gracie said, "_Right_! Tubbington's medication is at your apartment. I'll let myself out! Bye Santana, thanks for the coffee that we didn't drink!"

"Uh... bye," Santana said as the door shut and Brittany said, "I'll be there in an hour!"

She was about to question why Brittany was here when they agreed to be ready for seven and meet at Brittany's but then there was another kiss and it turned into immediate frenching. Of the mouth-kissing kind.

"Hmmmmm," Santana moaned, following Brittany's lead of such an uncharacteristic greeting. Uncharacteristic because Brittany usually just kissed her on the lips during make outs since she was certain that Santana's lips needed to be kissed thoroughly to remain soft and functional. Apparently kissing was the equivalent of a lip massage and since Santana was a lawyer who spoke a lot she needed consistent massages.

"I love your sexy lawyer suit," Brittany giggled, now nibbling all over Santana's ears and making quick movements of un-tucking her cream blouse from her grey pencil skirt. She carefully stroked around with just the perfect amount of – ooh yeah soft lips Brittany smells so good all the time and being in love is awesome fluffy bunnies, butterflies in your tummy… and smooches like heaven what a sunny awesome day… sugar candy love mmmmm – what was she saying?

Santana opened her mouth to question, "Britt?"

And the answer she got from her openly frisky girlfriend was another tongue twisting kiss after a gorgeously raspy, " yes, Sannie Bear?"

Her back was slammed against the corridor wall next to Lord Tubbington's crime scene as Brittany started unbuttoning her blouse.

Such lovely hands and, and – fucking hips with the most perfect of perfect asses and you can feel it up in one go by sliding your hands over and down and up and squeeze and under the shirt and then under the…

Santana was aware that her hair was being ruined as it was rubbed against the dark grey painted wall of her apartment but she couldn't help it. Brittany was dropping to her knees now and unzipping her skirt's side zipper.

"Babe?" She breathlessly asks, watching Brittany's lips admire her gym routine custom sculpted abs with tenderness. She wants to say 'you're welcome' to Brittany's non-verbal 'thank-you for being so hot and fit', but that might upset her because it upset another girl once. Like, Santana got an Appletini tossed into her eyes and no night of lady-loving fun. She learned that if a girl wanted her for her body, it was best not to tell the girl 'you're welcome' until after the sex happened.

Brittany giggled and looked up at her, leaning back a bit with a hair toss and naughty grin. "I want to give you a happy anniversary gift. Last night wasn't enough."

Santana said, "oh" with a light gasp because now her silk dark green panties were being tugged down and Brittany was inching forward with her special, daring 'are you ready for an amazing orgasm' eyes –

"Aw shit… Britt… I'm… um today… million dollars and… fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

This was so the happiest day of her life.

/

"Bad Lord Tubbington!" Brittany said to her cat and gave him her 'disappointed' face.

His tail lazily swatted at her wrist in her hold and he licked the sleeve of her vintage jean jacket. Gracie was out grabbing some junk food and tampons, and Brittany was debating what to quickly put on. Santana would be here within an hour, and she probably should have just taken her clothes to get ready at Santana's after surprising her at the apartment instead of coming back here, but whatever.

Going there was worth it. Santana was so cute when she got orgasms. All breathless and confused and cuddly and sleepy…

"We talked about this," she stroked behind his ears. "Peeing all over Santana's stuff isn't helping me try to even our relationship. Did you know that when I offered to pay for her shoes she told me no? She never says no to me unless it's to me using my money. What should I do about this? It makes me feel..."

Lord Tubbington yawned and licked at Brittany's fingers with his tiny tongue.

"You give terrible advice. Okay, so, Gracie is babysitting you tonight because Tina's working and then spending the night with that guy Gracie introduced her to so you can pee on her all you want, okay?"

He purred and Brittany tickled near his whiskers before dropping him on her bed and moving her creaky closet door to dig around her closet.

"So this is Santana we're talking about. She'll be buying me something so I'll have to make sure my gift shows how much I love her. Thoughts? I probably shouldn't have left the gift buying until last minute but things got crazy over the weekend. The cops were involved."

"Hey!" Tina entered from the kitchen of their tiny apartment. "I heated up some frozen pizza if you want it. And I even cut a salad with dried berries because my mom says its good for my skin."

"Awesome. But I'm having dinner with San, remember? But Gracie will have my share when she gets back."

"Oh! One year anniversary dinner," Tina swooned with her mouth full of pizza. "What did you get her?"

Brittany looked at her loyal cat and hoped he would come up with something. "Uh…"

"Ohymgod you forgot?" Tina's jaw dropped. "Britt you've gushed about it last night for hours, how did you forget a present?"

"It's the person not the present that matters. And I didn't forget… I just don't know what to do."

"You told me you wanted to wow her with something huge because she's always so sweet, right?"

Brittany slumped back down on her bed. "Tina, what could I possibly buy Santana? She has everything she wants and I know that because she told me that. I plagiarized her words and everything."

"Well," Tina sighed, "Buy her a puppy?"

"I want to, but she doesn't want pets. She said my pet is enough for the both of us. But like, could you picture her with a puppy? So cute."

"Who doesn't want a puppy?" Tina is shocked. "Okay, I mean, how about jewelry? You told me that since you started dating her you've saved a lot of money, you even covered my half of the month's rent accidentally because you didn't know what to do with all the money you saved. Santana loves her diamonds, right? When we all went out that one time she was wearing diamonds."

"She does, but I refuse to buy diamonds unless they're those lab ones they make with science. Maybe I should make her a diamond?"

Tina let Brittany mull it over, and then Lord Tubbington meowed and Brittany said, "I can't. Santana mentioned that she's selective of her jewelry… she only picks out unique pieces so she can brag about them if needed. I don't know enough about jewelry to get her something she'd really like!"

Seeing Brittany was increasingly distraught, Tina thought, "well, I don't know, chocolates? Like, really nice European ones?"

"She doesn't eat chocolate unless she's too drunk to notice what she's eating. Only whipping cream, and only off of my body in tiny amounts. Especially my nip-"

"A picture!" Tina screeched because she didn't want a visual of her best friend and Santana. "A picture of you in a nice frame."

"Tina," Brittany's deadpan face became a little hurt, "I shared with you how much inner turmoil I feel because I have a girlfriend so whipped by my amazing-ness that she doesn't want anything more from me than what I already give her – sex, conversation, and cuddling. I can't just give her something that focuses on me, then I only encourage her weird obsession to worship me."

Tina's jaw slowly closed and she said, "for the record you never told me that."

"Oh. Well, then I told you in my mind and now you know."

"Look, all I know is Santana has money, clearly, since she spends some of it on you and most of it on herself and Jake told me that she's the only lawyer who got audited this year because of her high paycheck increases-"

"Who's Jake?"

"The guy Gracie set me up with? He's an intern at the firm and really hot. He's so out of my league so I'm nervous about tonight."

"Don't be nervous, be excited."

"Okay, I am really excited!" Tina squealed so Brittany, as roommate and BFF, supported her with her supporting squeal. They jumped a little and danced.

"Okay," Brittany said. "Now that we're done talking about you, let's talk about me again."

"Where was I?"

"Santana and money. I don't get to spend mine and it bugs me. I've never had so much money saved up before… it's making me feel anxious."

"Right… and I don't see why you're complaining. This woman has seen you talk to your cat and about your cat and met your cat and she's still in love with you."

"What does Lord Tubbington have to do with my love life?"

"I think you should just take a picture of yourself and hand it to her and then let her fawn over you for the rest of your life and be happy. Okay? Like Jesus, Brittany, now I'm jealous."

"Okay," Brittany said. It wasn't what she wanted to hear but it made sense.

So they're walking from Brittany's apartment to BreadstiX later that evening, and Brittany jerks Santana's arm for attention.

Santana lurches back and says, "yeah babe?"

"You don't need your purse," Brittany leans over and kisses her gently on the corner of the mouth (when dealing with Santana, Brittany learned gentle got the best results).

"Mmmm?" Santana turned her head and captured Brittany's lips, breathing through her nose and dropping Brittany's thin pink lips with a light smack.

Her glazed eyes and lazy smile almost made Brittany forget her point as she lost herself into the soft cushions of her Sannie Bear's luscious lips, but she recalled, "let's agree that I buy dinner tonight, okay?"

This might be the solution.

Santana tilted her head back in confusion and crossed her arms over her chest. "Britts, it's okay. Don't feel bad about Tubbs okay? Those are just shoes, you don't owe me anything."

"But… It's our anniversary and I want to do something special and buying you dinner at BreadstiX is special because you love it so much."

"That's sweet Britt-Britt," Santana blushed, "but I already prepaid for our night and money is not an issue so don't sweat it."

"Well… here," Brittany grabs her iPhone out of her purse and hands it to Santana.

"You're giving me your phone for our anniversary?"

"No… I made a playlist in my music, about songs that remind me of you and how much I love you."

Santana's face turns red and she follows Brittany's thumb as it briefly shows the playlist. She giggles and hugs Brittany close, "Brittany… thank you."

Brittany pouted as Santana walked away, hips swaying in tight Guess jeans and the click of high heeled leather ankle boots.

"Shall we? I wants my breadsticks from BeadstiX." Santana says, looking sweet and happy with her hand waiting to be taken since she noticed Brittany was standing still.

"How was your day?" Brittany asks as they resume their walk down the deserted street.

Santana adjusted her purse's long strap to rest between her breasts and nodded, "it was okay. Actually, it was great. Winning a million dollars is my biggest win yet. I am officially the best thing that ever happened to the firm. And Sylvester can suck it and now she'll regret the day she ever thought my shitty Mexican law degree would be her advantage. Her words, not mine."

Brittany smiled, "there's that song, the one that goes 'if I had a million dollars' and has the weird things like 'buy you a house' and stuff. If you had a million dollars, wouldn't you use it to buy another million dollars? Is that an investment?"

"Genius," Santana snapped her fingers, "I was thinking of booking us a Hawaii vacay so we could get our bikini on but maybe I should think about what to do with it more, huh? Like… stock exchange."

"Oh! Honey, you could totally buy a Starbucks. You love Starbucks."

"Yeah… and I actually _could_ buy a house, and then re-sell it."

"House economy is bad but I hear massive places in Europe are selling super cheap... I know, you should try playing a high-stakes poker game since you're great at intimidating people with your eyes and smirk. Total bluff-face."

"You know I'm terrible at taking risks though…" Santana pouted.

"I'd do it for you," Brittany offers now latching both of her hands on Santana's to lean over and whisper in her ear, "I'd do anything for you."

She laughs when Santana chokes on air, flattered and turned on beyond belief.

They cross the street and suddenly join crowds of people. Santana ignores the man waiting for free money with his hat out, but Brittany shares a grin and wave while dropping a dollar.

"Sun's already setting," Santana grumbles, "I needed some vitamin D. I forgot to take my vitamins today. Shit."

"Ugh. I have to give Tubbs extra calcium now. Does that make sense to you? I don't think his new vet knows what he's doing."

"Sure… but he is a really fat cat so I'm guessing no vet would know what to do with him."

"He's big boned and diabetic, San," Brittany defends her cat and glares. "It's hard for him."

"Yeah, well I had to make sure he didn't chase any small children at the park last month because he could accidentally crush one with his weight." replied Santana, enjoying the night and walking on the sidewalk like it was her runway.

"He likes to play," Brittany says fondly.

"How was your day? You feeling better? You seemed kind of down earlier…" They stop walking at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and Santana's hand reaches out to gently caress some of Brittany's hair to the side.

Brittany smiles when a light kiss taps her cheek before they start walking again.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It was just a small headache. By the way, did I tell you yet how much I want you to always wear tight jeans? You're super hot in your smexy lawyer suits – like when they showed clips of your press conference on TV and I got to brag that we were dating to everybody at the studio – but seeing you a bit more casual is cute. I like it."

Santana rolls her eyes but smiles, "I know. I know you prefer it when I ditch the suits and that's what I love about you, you don't care about my money. You're too good, you know that?"

"I was talking about how good and grabable your ass looks in jeans, but okay."

They laugh together and Santana rakes a hand through her hair, feeling bashful as Brittany's thumb tickles her hand.

/

Thankfully, Santana's evening isn't such a gong show like the revelation at work courtesy of Sandy Ryerson.

In BreadstiX VIP they have a secluded booth behind a green curtain and can sit side by side. The only weird thing is how Brittany keeps trying to massage the tension out of her shoulders.

"No, Britt, I'm fine. Really. Please just sit and eat with me?"

"But I can feel your tension."

"I booked an appointment with my masseuse tomorrow. Hour long. Trust me, I'm fine."

"But…" Brittany pouts and moves back to sitting properly. "I just want to help."

Santana tries to think really hard about what Brittany is trying to help her with, but she can't come up with anything. "With what?"

Brittany leans her (perfectly sculpted) cheek on her hand and stuffs a forkful of the Penne Alfredo into her mouth with a frown.

"Did… you have a bad day?" Santana asks, now rubbing a gentle circle on Brittany's back.

"No."

"Did… you meet someone that made you sad like that old Alzheimer's lady?"

"No."

"Did you see too many missing pet signs?"

"No, Santana, nothing like that happened today, okay?" Brittany snapped at her.

"Okay," Santana dropped it and continued munching on her delicious breadsticks and salad. Third helping. Oh yeah. "Do you want the shrimp cocktail?"

Brittany covers her face with her hands and sniffles, dropping her fork and turning away.

Shocked, Santana pulls Brittany to her in a fierce hug. "Seriously Britt, what the fuck happened? I'm… I'm sorry, what did I… do… I…it's okay. Are you okay?"

A million thoughts run through Santana's head of what could possibly be wrong and she can't help but feel like this is somehow all her fault.

"It's nothing," Brittany finally says, softly backing away and using her napkin to wipe her face quickly.

Santana stares in disbelief and concern. Brittany's always so strong, and Santana hasn't seen her cry before.

"Really. I'm fine. You know how you cry when you drink? I cry when… I… This food is really good isn't it?"

Santana nods, still keeping an eye on Brittany in confusion and fear of not knowing what was wrong but not wanting to pressure her into talking about it when she wasn't ready.

"Here," she says after a minute, figuring out what might cheer Brittany up. A present.

She places a small velvet black box on the table between them after taking it out of her purse and cups Brittany's cheek tenderly. "Open it."

Brittany hesitates and then opens it, her eyes widening in shock when she realizes what is there.

"Is that… what I think it is?"

"Yeah, Britt. Since you-"

"No! Santana. I can't accept this."

Santana looks taken aback, hurt, and in full on dread mode. Brittany stands up and leaves. She leaves Santana sitting in the romantic booth all alone and runs off in a panic.

Santana stares at the box and where Brittany ran off, not understanding what was wrong. Everything was going so well and then… it can't be the gift, can it?

"It's this fucking red wine. It's fucking purple or some shit!" She mumble before grabbing the box to stuff back in her purse. She runs off the way she saw Brittany go, hoping to fix whatever was wrong.

/

TBC.


End file.
